


Forged by Fire

by AuntieEm73



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angry Thranduil, Blind Character, Caring Thranduil, Drama & Romance, Elf magic, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:40:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28900539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuntieEm73/pseuds/AuntieEm73
Summary: Barawen is an elf who has been blind for the majority of her life. As a very young child, she lost her parents in an orc attack and was taken in lovingly by the dwarfs of the Iron Hills. But she is a special elf and circumstances bring her to Erebor and later to Mirkwood. She is an especially gifted blacksmith and soon finds a certain Elvenking in awe of her skills and her gift... wait, what? A gift? Then something happens, leading the king to jump to conclusions, but he is wrong, so wrong. Can he fix whatever has been broken?
Relationships: Thranduil (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2019. Comments welcome.

Chapter 1

Screams of agony filled her little ears, while she listened to people loudly passing by her, some running, others frantic, as she was able to tell by the sounds of their winter garments and the panic in their voices. She felt a pair of arms lift her. She recognised her mother’s scent. She bounced on her mother’s back, as the usually happy piggy back ride swiftly brought her away from all the havoc around her.

“What’s happening, mother?” she asked, a quiver in her voice. 

“Hush now, Bara,” her mother shushed her, worried about being overheard, as she hurried towards a building the young girl recognised as a potato cellar. The mouldy scent of spuds reached her nostrils and she pulled up her nose.

“Why are we here?” her soft voice now squeaked.

Her mother did not answer.

“Where is father?” she now wondered, as she still heard the faint cries of pain in the distance.

The girl picked up on her mother’s accelerated breathing, which was not brought on by the exercise of carrying her daughter to safety. The girl instantly knew the truth and slowly tears gathered in her eyes. Her father was gone.

She listened to her mother lifting floor boards below them and before she realised what was happening, her mother had lowered her beneath the floor.

“Be absolutely quiet, my darling girl, else they will hear you. You are too special to fall into the wrong hands,” he mothered instructed her.

The next things she knew was her mother boarding up the hole she was to hide in. She didn’t mind the dark, as it made no difference to her vision. She had been blind since she had been a small toddler.

She listened to her mother shift items around the cellar to cover the boards beneath which she was hidden. 

Only moments later did she hear the walls of the space above her crash, brought on by the strength of whoever was trying to force their way in. An altercation occurred over her head and a deafening high-pitched scream followed before everything went quiet. Grief washed over the young girl, as she feared the worst. She hoped she was wrong, but she knew she wasn’t.

She listened to the footsteps overhead, until the footsteps grew more faint.

The girl curled up on the dirty floor beneath her. She softly cried as dark surrounded her. Now she had no one.

***

She was not certain how long she had been in hiding. Deep, though kind voices, could suddenly be heard overhead. She cried softly. Things went quiet, until whatever objects were hauled on top of the floor boards, were moved and the floor above her opened up. She noticed nothing of it all, not even being able to distinguish between light and dark.

“It’s a young elfling,” a coarse voice spoke.

“She has been crying… she is frightened,” another voice commented.

“Away with you both,” a third, deep voice ordered.

“Can’t you see the little elleth is grieving… she has been traumatised… poor thing,” the voice sounded friendly.

She heard a thud, as whoever had spoken last, had made his way into the hole and landed next to her.

“Don’t be frightened, little girl,” the voice almost whispered.

“The worst has come to pass,” he lied, knowing that the girl’s acceptance of losing loved ones lay ahead.

“You are safe now… the orcs have gone.”

The voice next to her noticed how the girl simply stared in front of her. He waved his hands in front of her face, but she did not blink or even move. The girl had no eyesight. His heart broke.

“I am Ham,” he spoke softly, introducing himself, hoping the girl would find a name that belonged to the voice somewhat comforting.

“And those nuts are Hog and Droun,” he said as he nodded towards the other two above him, realising that the girl could not see the gesture he made with his head.

“Dwarfs?” the girl wondered.

“Yes,” Ham replied.

“And what is your name, little one,” Ham asked kindly.

“I’m… Barawen,” the girl snivelled.

Ham smiled and she could sense it.

“Come with us, Barawen, there is nothing left for you here… we will take care of you.”

Barawen briefly cried. She reached out her little arms in front of her, until she found Ham’s torso. Her little fingers moved up, past his beard. She found his neck and when she did, she lunged forward to hold him, her arms wrapped tightly around him.

Ham understood that the girl had been extremely frightened. The fact that she had no eyesight did not make things any easier for her. He wrapped his arms around the little girl to provide her the comforting protection she was clearly seeking. They remained like that for a while, until Ham stood and lifted the girl up and handed her to Hog and Droun, who had been patiently waiting for their father climb out of the hole beneath the floor.

The two young dwarfs led the way as they exited the potato cellar. Barawen sensed the heat from a number of fires around them. She could smell burnt flesh and she dug her face into Ham’s shoulder. The smell was awful and not one she would likely forget.

“It’s okay, little one,” Ham rubbed her back with his hand, fully aware that while she was blind, her other senses were working overtime. 

Barawen could hear voices around her. Voices shouting orders, providing instructions. Ham carried her across from where she knew her mother had carried her earlier. She felt the ascent and descent of the hilly area. As a child she knew every bit of the area she grew up in. Every hill, every building, every bump on the ground. She knew exactly where she was and she sensed it through Ham’s movements. 

“Let’s move… back to the Iron Hills,” Ham shouted as he lifted the girl up onto his pony, as he settled behind her shortly after. 

The ride was long and the journey, as well as her grief, drained her. She had fallen asleep several times, leaning back against Ham. The dwarf in turn had wrapped his arm around her protectively to ensure she wouldn’t fall. He felt a soft spot for the little elleth with enigmatic grey eyes. She was special. Somehow he felt that she was. Besides, he would not have left a young one to fend for herself, when the threat of orcs was still very much present. She was coming back with them. No doubt Lord Dain would want to meet her.

*** 

“Ham… what is this,” a thundering voice bellowed.

“An orphan, my lord. This young elfling lost her parents… no… her entire village, in an orc attack,” he explained.

“We… _I_ did not want to leave her behind… she was frightened and all alone,” he continued.

“And so you thought to take pity on her… is that it?” Lord Dain wondered.

“Elves and dwarfs living together… now that would be the day, wouldn’t it,” he huffed.

“Fine… she is your responsibility. You will give her a proper dwarfish upbringing, make sure she earns her keep and…” Lord Dain was interrupted.

“She is blind, my lord,” Ham suddenly stated bluntly.

Lord Dain’s posture softened, as did his tone of speaking.

“Is that so, little girl?” he asked.

Barawen simply nodded in acknowledgement.

“And how did that hinder you before?” he genuinely wondered.

Barawen all of a sudden straightened her back and stood as tall as she possibly could.

“It didn’t. I learned how to use my other senses more so and as long as I know the area around me, I will need no one’s help,” she stated boldly.

“Good,” Dain smiled, impressed by the girl’s fierceness.

He turned his attention to Ham.

“Make it work, cousin,” he ordered, though he winked, knowing his cousin was not one to jump on board a lost cause. If he had seen something special in this girl, then he trusted his judgement.

Ham smiled.

He turned and with Barawen’s much smaller hand in his, left the space where Lord Dain had allowed them their audience. 

As he walked off, Hog and Droun were waiting for their father at the entrance.

“Boys, we have a job to do and that is to raise your sister like she is of our very own blood… can you do that?” Ham asked the younger dwarfs quizzically.

They both nodded. A sister.

*** 

In the years that followed, Barawen became a dwarf in all that she did, though as she grew older, she stood out with her height. She was a mere teenager when she already towered above Hog and Droun by a full head, and she was not yet done growing.

As she reached her early twenties and her formal schooling had been largely completed, Ham thought it was time for her to learn a skill. He had noticed she spent many moments with her older brother Droun, who was learning to become a blacksmith. She was fascinated by all that could be forged by means of fire. Fire was magic in her mind. She was convinced it looked beautiful, it provided warmth, it allowed for meals to be cooked, it was a necessity in metallurgy, it was fast, but most importantly, it was deadly.

Ham had requested the blacksmith to take on another apprentice. He had no objection at all. When the blacksmith learned that his second apprentice was a young elleth, and a blind one at that, he had his reservations. As time passed, however, he discovered that Barawen was far more talented than Droun ever hoped to be. Droun noticed the same, but did not hold it against his adoptive sister. He doted on her and helped her improve her blacksmith skills in any way he could. 

Instead, together with his brother Hog, he decided that perhaps they could teach their sister some skills in combat.

Ham was sceptical at first. What were his sons thinking teaching their vulnerable and weak sister melee combat skills. As he watched them, he quickly understood that the elf’s agility worked much in her favour and she learned fast. Yes, she was blind, but this was not an obstacle. She had developed a tremendous sense of hearing and smell and managed to improve her skills because of them. Especially her hearing allowed her to predict her adversary’s movements without much difficulty. And in Hog’s case, she teased her brother by repeatedly mentioning how his smell betrayed his location. 

She soon surpassed her older brothers when it came to fighting. Whenever they were under threat, Barawen was present and accompanied her father and brothers into combat. She was most skilled and the dwarfs could not imagine her not in their party.

The blacksmith was in awe of how the young elf had learned every bit his trade had to offer. After a time, the trade had no more secrets for her and she meticulously found her way around the work space by hearing, scent and touch only, producing high quality items on request. She managed to build quite the reputation as she got older.

It wasn’t until one cold winter’s day, that she discovered something about herself. Something her adoptive father could never have taught her, though grateful she was for her dwarfish upbringing.

A dwarf of questionable intent had entered the blacksmith’s domain. She overheard the dwarf speaking to the blacksmith in a hushed tone, while she worked in the back, gathering scrap metal. She cared not for the tone of the customer, but his request was as clear as day. He required a dagger, with specific dimensions. The blacksmith beckoned Barawen.

“Bara, can you come over here for a moment?” he asked.

The customer described what it was he wanted. Barawen never blinked, just staring ahead of her.

The customer frowned.

“Seriously?” he wondered, not wanting a blind, female elf create what he had just requested.

The blacksmith huffed at the customer’s tone.

“She is the most skilled blacksmith around… I daresay she is even more skilled than I am,” he hissed at the other dwarf, making Barawen grin, feeling tremendously proud.

There was a moment of silence between the three of them.

“Very well,” the customer gave in.

Barawen extended her hand to seal the deal. The customer took her hand with hesitation.

As soon as the skins of their palms touched, images shot through her head. She had never been able to see, but these were images of what she concluded were dwarfs, knowing them from those she had either touched or from descriptions provided by her family. She did not understand what this meant. Sight had always been a mystery to her, yet her mind was mesmerised by the images that played in her head. The dwarfs in her mind moved. She saw someone’s arms in front of her, a menacing dagger in his hand, crashing into what looked like a bedroom. What followed was a carnage that made her gasp. The dagger looked like what the customer had described her to make. Was she looking into the future? 

She quickly let go of the customer’s hand and turned to remove herself from the room.

She could hear the blacksmith further seal the deal with the customer, before he left.

The blacksmith found her in the back, heaving.

“What the hell was that about?” he almost shouted.

“Get my father and my brothers… quickly,” she raised her voice, her breathing heavy.

*** 

Barawen sat quietly, her father and brothers eyeing her intently, until the blacksmith spoke.

“What troubles you so?” Ham asked kindly.

The young elf just looked ahead like she always did, before saying anything.

“I saw something,” she whispered.

Ham looked surprised.

“Your vision is returning?” he wondered.

“No, father, I did not see with my eyes, but with my mind, but I don’t know what it means,” she stated in confusion.

“I saw images of…” she halted.

“…I don’t know what I _saw_ exactly. The dwarf who was here earlier… he requested a dagger. It had specific measurements and details on it. I know what a dagger looks like, I have felt many before. But what I saw was an image of what he had requested specifically. It was as though I looked through his eyes,” she explained.

She continued with how she had seen the dwarf in a blood bath, caused so by his hands and his dagger and that he fled shortly afterwards.

Barawen sat astounded by the words of her own story. She could only imagine what her family’s faces looked like. 

Ham was the first to speak.

“You have not had these images before?” he asked.

Barawen just shook her head. She had clearly been startled by what she had witnessed.

She heard Hog and Droun whisper to one another. _Elf magic_.

Ham turned to his adoptive daughter and wrapped his arms the shoulder of her seated form. He knew what his daughter had told him was indeed what his sons had already voiced. It was elf magic, but how and why was a mystery to him. All he understood was what he had always known. His daughter was special.

*** 

Droun crashed into the blacksmith’s with a loud crash as the wooden door almost shot off its hinges. 

“They caught him,” he shouted at his sister.

Barawen walked in the direction of where she heard her brother speak.

“What are you on about, you fool?” she asked.

“The images you saw… father decided to pay the dwarf you had seen a visit, after the blacksmith told him who it was. He caught him almost murdering his wife with the dagger you made for him. He claimed his wife had been adulterous and wanted to end her life… but father stopped him… he’s in custody now.” 

Barawen’s eyes grew large in shock. She _had_ seen the future and an ominous one at that. Was this the burden she would carry for the rest of her life? Who was she to meddle in people’s futures? She was nobody. She did not understand.

*** 

“Sit down, Barawen,” her father kindly requested, as she entered their home.

“I have done a lot of thinking about your gift,” he spoke.

“I understand that you are as curious about understanding it, as much as I am, but I do not have any answers for you. But every time you touch someone with a request for you to create something or otherwise, images spring upon you like a giant spider would in Mirkwood. You have prevented many wrong-doings in the past years and people are grateful for that, but it is time for you to understand how the elvish mind works. You are… as I had always suspected… special. And it’s because you are special, and because I love you so much, my daughter, that I’m sending you to Erebor for a while. You will live among dwarfs, as you have done here. The dwarfs of Erebor have frequent dealings with the elves of Mirkwood. I want you to rekindle any connections with the elves you have lost when you were a child. Perhaps you can form alliances of sorts, alliances that will help you better understand your elvish self.”

“I understood that Gandalf is a frequent visitor of both Mirkwood as well as Erebor. If you can seek him out, he might help you understand your gift,” he ended, his daughter was silent.

Barawen did not immediately speak, letting her father’s words sink in. If anyone would know anything at all, it would be Gandalf the Grey, whom the elves referred to as _Mithrandir_.

“You’re sending me away?” she asked softly.

“It’s not that we won’t see you anymore, my dearest. We will be in touch and when time allows, there will be visits, but for your own development, it is crucial that you expose yourself to this opportunity. I have reached out to Thráin, my cousin, the current king under the mountain,” her father clarified.

Barawen’s eyes filled with tears, though she knew her father was right. It was important for her to liaise with the elves. After all, her dwarfish kin did not have an eternal life ahead of them like she did.

***


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Several more years had passed since she had settled herself at Erebor. At first the dwarfs frowned upon a female elf in their midst, and a blind one at that. How useful could she possibly be? They soon realised that Barawen was a true gift of Middle-Earth. Not only did she hold her own in combat, but she was the most skilled blacksmith they had ever laid eyes upon. 

Many came to her with specific requests. Metallurgy held only few secrets for her anymore. The one thing, however, she could never get used to, was the images that sometimes haunted her when she touched people. 

She had managed to distinguish images of malintent, as opposed to those that simply allowed her to glimpse into people’s near future. Unfortunately she also managed to get images that were of the private kind. She sometimes chuckled at those, but she hardly needed to see anyone involved in the pleasures of the flesh. 

All the images that managed to make their way into her mind, did however allow her to better understand what things looked like, had she been blessed with actual vision. It was better than nothing.

She learned the difference between dwarfs, elves and men through her images, though blurry they could sometimes be. She managed to learn about different kinds of weapons, which she had previously known about by means of touch only and she learned about what or whom she found appealing or not. 

While many took a liking to her, only a few seemed interested in Barawen in a way that was more than just for her personality or her blacksmith skills. Dwarfs were typically turned off by being intimate with an elf, though some were incredibly infatuated by her beautiful looks. Barawen had no idea whether she was at all attractive or not. In the past her brothers had made fun of her long brown curly hair, which clung to her face with sweat when she was working her magic at the blacksmith’s and roared at her strange pointy ears, but they never expressed whether she looked nice or not. She looked… different, in their eyes. More importantly, they simply didn’t regard her as such. She was after all their sister.

It wasn’t until she found her way to Erebor, that some expressed an interest in her beauty, or so they said. Her brown curly hair flowed elegantly around her shoulders and down her back. Her eyes were a dark grey, which lit up if the sun shone on them. Her nose was small and straight, and her lips were plump. Her high cheekbones made her eyes twinkle whenever she laughed, revealing beautiful white, though slightly crooked teeth, an imperfection which could be considered perfect, as it created an outward appearance that turned many heads. Yet she was a stranger to being assessed as beautiful, because she had no means of comparing herself to other females, least of all elves. Surely she was nothing special to behold. 

Clearly some begged to differ and while she had no immediate interest in any males, be it dwarfs, or elves or men, she did allow herself moments of intimate pleasures. She was curious and as an adult, she found she did have urges and needs, but often she decided she did not need a male to satisfy her. What’s more, she had yet to find a male that allowed her the pleasure that they were obviously experiencing themselves. She figured she would save herself from future disappointments and perhaps refrain from sex altogether.

*** 

Barawen was working hard on an assignment she had received several days prior. She had braided her hair so it wouldn’t be in her face all the time, while she was slaving over an open fire, hammering away at the metal in front of her. One of the female dwarfs had taught her how to braid. Her first attempts were flawed to say the least, but as she got used to it more, she managed to produce a beautiful thick braid that fell to just over her rear.

She wore a sleeveless tunic, her upper arms covered in soot, while a leather apron protected her torso and upper legs. 

Being a blacksmith, had developed the muscles in her arms, shoulders and back. She was quite slender, but the muscles in her arms stood out quite clearly, especially as she was working the hammer. While she was quite muscular, she was still very much feminine in every way possible. She had a narrow waist, which was barely visible from underneath the leather apron, and her backside flowed into a curve, that made her upper body resemble an hourglass of sorts. She had medium sized breasts that were firm from her daily exercise, but they were also covered by the leather that protected her from the heat of the open fire.

Barawen took a small break, found a large jug of water that rested on a table close by. As she reached out for it, she lifted it to her mouth and started drinking. She managed to drink almost half of the content before setting it back down on the wooden surface beside her. She got used to drinking a lot of water. The heat and extensive sweating she did, required her to replenish her fluid levels frequently. She suffered from headaches regularly, which were accompanied by light flashes, not unlike the images in her head when she touched people. She assigned the headaches to a lack of fluids, but she knew that was not entirely correct.

Within moments she was back by the fire. She felt the metal she had been working on, as it had cooled enough for her to touch it. She nodded to herself as she pushed the metal into the fire before putting it back down onto the anvil. She reached for the hammer, where she knew she had left it, before she started slamming down onto the metal again to shape it.

She did not hear people entering her domain, as the hammer to the metal was too loud for her to hear anything else. Or was it?

No one said anything and after a short while Barawen spoke first.

“If you tell me what I may do for you, then that would be a good start of a conversation, don’t you think?” she smirked, wondering who is it was she was addressing. The sound of the garments flowing, fabric brushing against fabric, was unfamiliar to her, therefore she had no way of knowing who was actually there. Clearly it was someone she had never met before. She recognised most people by their gait, the rustling of their clothes or armour. The almost silent swishing of fabric in her workshop, she had not yet heard.

“ _Mae G’ovannen_ ,” a deep, calm voice spoke.

Barawen’s sense of hearing was instantly triggered, as she had rarely heard such grace in a voice before. It gave her chills, yet the voice was soothing at the same time. The fact that she was being addressed in elvish was new to her. No one in Erebor, even her elvish customers, had ever addressed her like that. And while she spoke none of the elvish languages, she was familiar with the greeting.

“And the same to you,” she replied _looking_ up in the direction of where the voice was coming from.

One of the dwarfs who often assisted Barawen in her workshop, closed the distance between them and carefully whispered to her, _King Thranduil_.

Barawen had heard of King Thranduil, the ruler of Mirkwood, the Woodland Realm. He had a reputation of being cold and distant, yet here he was, in the heart of Erebor, visiting her little abode, where she worked her metallurgical magic.

“Welcome… what can I do for you?” she asked kindly, addressing him in the common tongue of Middle-Earth, much to his surprise.

“I have been informed of your extraordinary skills as a blacksmith, I must however confess that I had not been told you are…” he was interrupted.

“An elf? A female?” she asked, wondering about what he wanted to say next.

“…blind,” King Thranduil finally said.

“Is that a problem for you, my Lord?” Barawen responded.

Thranduil moved closer to observe the intriguing elf in his presence. 

“Not in the least, if your reputation is anything to go by,” he said in a matter-of-fact-like voice.

Barawen heard additional rustling other than the garments she now recognised as King Thranduil’s.

She concluded that the king had brought aides or servants with him. He would not have made the journey from Mirkwood to Erebor alone.

Silence fell between them, with King Thranduil simply staring at her. It made Barawen uneasy. She listened intently, but as Thranduil stood quite still, she did not know how to proceed.

She finally spoke.

“How may I be of service to you, my Lord,” she addressed him politely.

It sounded like he was snapped back to reality, his mind clearly distracted, though she was uncertain by what.

“Oh… I am in need of repairs… my swords have become damaged when last we fended off giant spiders in my forest. My swords are unique and while my own blacksmith is quite skilled, I felt that perhaps these required some _special_ attention.

Barawen again felt certain chills run down her spine when hearing King Thranduil utter the word _special_.

She held out her hands, wordlessly asking the king to give the swords to her.

Thranduil gently placed the handles of the swords into her hands. She felt the weight of both, holding one sword in each hand and smiled.

“Twins,” she merely stated, making the corners of Thranduil’s mouth curl up ever so slightly.

She put down one sword, let her fingers glide along the metal of the other sword to assess the problem. She soon found a small crack in it, no thicker than a hair. She agreed that the sword required repairs. Even a fine crack as this, made the sword vulnerable and essentially useless. 

Thranduil observed her long slender fingers, while at the same time her hands clearly showed signs of strength, as callouses adorned the palms of them. His gaze wandered higher, to her arms. He arms were thin, but muscular from all the physical work she put into her skills. He was surprised that only a few burn scars could be found on her skin. Her shoulders were relatively broad and squared for a female, which he concluded was because of the same daily effort she exercised in her work. He felt somewhat drawn to her, in a curious sort of way.

Barawen nodded, having already _seen_ what was required to be seen. She put the sword down and picked up its twin. This sword had a different ailment, though not entirely dissimilar from the first sword. This sword also had a crack in it, though closer to the hilt. _Metal fatigue_ , she concluded. In addition she felt one area where the metal had chipped away.

“I _see_ ,” she said, making Thranduil frown. What was there to see? She was blind.

“Spiders’ pincers are quite hard,” he almost sounded apologetically for having damaged his swords, which had served him well for hundreds of years.

“I understand, my Lord, but rest assured, your swords are in good hands, I promise you that,” she said, her fingers still on the blade of the second weapon.

_I have no doubt they will be_ , he thought to himself as he marvelled at her beautiful but strong hands.

Barawen put the sword down and extended her hand.

Thranduil looked at her hand, but did not extend his own to meet it. She frowned.

“You do not wish to seal the agreement of me repairing your swords?” she wondered.

“We have no agreement… I am fine with whatever your work requires in terms of cost to fix my blades, besides I have already given you them,” Thranduil remarked.

“You will blindly trust me like that?” Barawen asked lowering her hand.

He would. There was something about this elleth that told him he could put his life in her hands and all would be well.

“I do… your reputation is commendable,” he simply replied.

“But you do not know me… I would be more comfortable with the notion that we have agreed on some understanding. As you said, your swords are unique and I will treat them with the respect and care they deserve,” she responded, again extending her hand to him.

“Very well,” Thranduil gave in and gripped her wrist, rather than just her hand, sending instant electricity through her entire body. In return she curled her fingers around his.

Barawen went slightly rigid as images floated through her head. She found herself looking through the king’s eyes, as he battled, slaying orcs and giant spiders alike, surrounded by a thick forest. She saw him twist and turn and as he did, long strands of silvery blond hair appeared in her vision as he moved. She noticed him to be tall, towering over orcs as well as the other elves around him, fighting their common enemy. She had already assessed he was a tall elf, based on his speaking voice and the direction from which she heard him speaking to her. She was not used to being outranked in height and so she was mildly intrigued. 

She briefly saw a blurry image, a reflection, of the king as he passed a shiny shield of one of the other elves. She could not quite see what he looked like, apart from the chiselled jaw and the dark and striking eyebrows. Beneath the eyebrows, eyes of silver flashed quickly, before the image of him was gone. She had released her grip of Thranduil’s wrist.

“Are you alright?” the king asked, a tone of concern in his voice as he noticed her facial expression.

“I am… thank you, my Lord,” she quickly replied, not wanting to reveal her gift, though Thranduil had already seen that there was more to the elf than met the eye on the surface. Did she perhaps possess the power of foresight, like Lord Elrond? He could not be certain, but something had made her respond in the way she did. He found it strangely appealing.

“I will have the swords ready for you in a fortnight,” she indicated.

“I have other assignments to complete first,” she continued to explain.

A voice from behind the king sounded in protest.

“This is your king, certainly you can expedite the request,” he sounded demanding, having taken a step forward.

“Do _not_ assume to know how this lady handles her assignments, Mirthal,” Thranduil bellowed at his aide, silencing him instantly, making him step back again. 

“And note that I am not her king,” he added, _though I would like to be_ , he thought to himself.

Barawen now recognised Mirthal’s movements as well.

“A fortnight will be quite agreeable,” he commented having turned his face towards her again.

Barawen swallowed hard. She had never been referred to as _a lady_. She had always been _the elf_ , or _the blind female_ , or _the blacksmith_. What did she do to deserve such respect? She had yet to earn it from King Thranduil. She was mildly confused.

“My Lord… your swords will hold more power if you were to allow me to imbue them with certain gems,” she suggested.

Thranduil looked at her.

“I have no need for more power, I only need them to be fixed,” he replied curtly as he turned to leave.

“I am Barawen,” she suddenly blurted out, in need to let him know her name.

The sudden way in which she addressed him, made him stop in his movements briefly.

_A fitting name_ , he thought to himself, knowing that it meant _fiery maiden_ in Sindarin.

“I know,” he responded without turning.

And with that he was gone.

*** 

Thranduil was immersed in deep thought, journeying back to his Woodland palace. His mind kept wandering to the blind elleth he had met in Erebor. He had learned of her incredible skills from many in the region. He had already been impressed with her, and even more so after meeting her face to face. He had rarely set eyes on such beauty, yet she did not seem preoccupied with that. When they had met, she was covered in filth and sweat, but the heat from her furnace had given her cheeks a rosy glow. Her eyes were unable to see, but they were certainly a sight to behold, especially with the orange glow from the fire at her smithy. He shook his head lightly. He had no business thinking in the way he did. He urged his horse to go into full gallop. He needed a distraction.

*** 

Several days passed. Barawen had pondered how to best fix the damaged swords that were entrusted to her by King Thranduil. She had several ideas, but decided that the swords only deserved the best. She worked on the blades with such care that it took her thrice as long as it normally would, to ensure the best of results. She wasn’t certain whether a fortnight would be enough, but she would work nights, as she had an agreement with the king.

Suddenly a delicate, though familiar sound reached her ears. She had instantly recognised the sound and smiled. _So much for patience_ , she thought to herself.

“They are not yet ready, my Lord,” she said, bending over the blades not dissuaded from the work in front of her, before her guest could speak.

“Indeed… I did not think they would be, though I have come with a different request,” King Thranduil’s voice sounded low and enticing.

Barawen straightened herself and turned to face him. She looked intrigued.

“You have other weapons for me to repair or forge from scratch altogether?” she wondered aloud.

“I would like you to take up residence at my palace, run my smithy and educate my own blacksmith as I feel there is… well… room for improvement,” he ended.

“But you have not yet seen what I am able to do with your blades,” she spoke in surprise.

“No, but your reputation is significant and I trust those who have positively commented on your work,” he responded.

Barawen let his words sink in and as she opened her mouth to speak, she suddenly bent over in agony, her hands to her head. She lowered herself onto her knees, bringing her head down, almost touching the dirty ground beneath her. She made no sound, but the expression on her face screamed pain. And a lot of it. Thranduil was with her in the blink of an eye, his hand resting on her back by way of comfort. He felt that there was little he could do for her, as he did not understand where the pain was coming from and how it affected her exactly. 

Thranduil could tell by the movements of her hands, that she did not know which position to assume to relieve her agony. He quickly removed the cloak from his shoulders, spread the fabric out onto the floor and sat on it, after which he pulled Barawen’s suffering form against him. If he couldn’t help her, at the very least he could provide comfort to ease whatever ailed her. She leaned her head against his thigh, while gripping a fistful of his tunic’s fabric. 

After a while, the pain seemed to subside, as he could feel her grip on his tunic starting to relax. Her breathing calmed and it almost seemed she had slipped into a slumber of sorts. He wondered what had happened just now, but suspected that it was related to her eyesight, or lack thereof.

Almost instinctively he lifted his hand and started to stroke her long hair. He spoke softly in a language that she was not familiar with, but if felt warm and inviting. 

She finally raised herself into a sitting position.

“I’m sorry about that,” she whispered.

“There is no need to apologise. What happened?” he asked kindly.

Barawen sighed.

“I get these horrible headaches from time to time. I’m not certain what triggers them, but as they occur, I can see flashes, although I have no eyesight, so I’m not certain what it is I’m witnessing… I… I don’t know what it means,” her voice full of confusion.

Silence fell between them.

“Have you ever considered consulting healers… or better yet wizards?” he asked.

“I haven’t… you don’t happen to know any, do you?” she smiled faintly.

“In fact, I do,” he smiled back.

Barawen slowly got to her feet. She had felt the fabric beneath her and she raised her eyebrows. 

“I’m afraid your cloak is soiled now,” she voiced her concern.

“I care not about one cloak,” he responded, warmth in his words.

Barawen pretended to turn her attention back to his twin blades, but in fact she had turned her back towards the king in order not to reveal the fact that she was blushing. King Thranduil was not cold, nor distant. He was pleasant and kind, warm and amiable. How could people have been mistaken in him so much. Who had assessed his cold demeanour? She knew not.

“I have considered your request. I would be honoured to take up the position at your smithy. I hope there are a few things I’m able to teach your blacksmith, if anything we can exchange experiences,” she smiled.

She couldn’t see it, but Thranduil’s mouth turned into a faint smile of accomplishment. He looked forward to having her under his roof. He wanted to get to know her better and this was an opportunity.

*** 

Barawen had meticulously completed the repairs on King Thranduil’s twin swords. She was pleased with the result.

As she was to take up residence at the palace, the journey through Mirkwood was not just one of returning the swords to Thranduil, but it gave her an opportunity to think about what she was getting herself into. She remembered her father’s words when he had sat her down years prior, how it was important for her to find out more about who she was, her elvish self, and what possible alliances she might forge and how they could work in her favour. She had always stood out growing up in the Iron Hills, but she had never felt out of place. The dwarfs had taken her in as though she was one of them and she was forever grateful. She understood that elves did things differently and it would require effort to become accustomed to that. She had to admit to herself that she found elves fascinating. As rugged and rough dwarfs could be, elves seemed to be the exact opposite. She was definitely intrigued by them… by _him_.

***


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3 

As Barawen settled in her new environment, she could practically feel people’s gazes on her as she walked around the palace. The resident blacksmith, Pilinder, was not pleased with her being there, as he felt like he had been replaced. Barawen assured him that she had no desire to replace him, just share best practices in case there were any skills he did not yet possess. Thranduil had been quite right when he had said that there was room for improvement, but Barawen was not discouraged and never showed it to Pilinder, who she discovered still had many things to learn. She decided to make him feel wanted and valuable, which she acknowledged that he was, and that while his skills could be improved, what he had done as blacksmith up to that point, was tremendous and deserved praise. 

She got to know Pilinder quite well and after only a few days, within a short period of time, she had in fact formed a friendship of sorts with the blacksmith.

Barawen had been so caught up by her new environment that she had completely forgotten to return Thranduil’s swords to him. Her workload had not allowed it and she decided to pay the king a visit when all her tasks for the day had been completed.

It was quite late when she finally finished. Covered in a smudgy tunic and black leggings and boots, she made her way to the king’s chambers. She had tried to clean up as best she could and hoped that she didn’t look too dishevelled. She frowned at herself, why on earth did she care? 

As she walked towards his private quarters, she regretted not allowing herself a drink. She was thirsty and craved for water, but she would settle for anything that was liquid at that moment. Her visit with the king would have to be cut short.

Moments later she stood in front of the intricately decorated wooden doors that were the entrance to King Thranduil’s private domain. The pair of guards present looked at the elleth with deep frowns. After she explained the reason for her being there, she was allowed to knock on the wooden surface of the doors.

She heard a curt command from inside. She listened for the guards’ movements carefully. One of them scraped his throat, indicating she could in fact go inside. 

As she pushed the doors closed behind her, she took the twin swords from beneath her upper arm and held them in the palms of her hands, which she had wrapped in a soft fabric as if to protect them.

Thranduil walked towards her. She recognised the way his footsteps sounded on the floor, though the swishing of his usual garments seemed absent. Clearly he was dressed differently being in the privacy of his own domain.

He walked towards Barawen and stood at a decent distance, simply taking in the elleth that had him curious continuously. 

“My Lord,” Barawen greeted him, bowing slightly.

She held out the swords for him to take. As he did, his fingers brushed hers delicately, though unintentionally. The brief, and almost non-existent touch, made her skin tingle and scream. Her breathing accelerated. 

“Please, come,” he beckoned her further into the ante-chamber of his quarters. 

“Sit down, there is a chair just to your right,” he explained.

She extended her hands to allow for her touch to find the chair Thranduil was referring to. As she sat, she could hear him unwrap the fabric from around his beloved blades.

Then there was silence.

Thranduil took one blade into his hand and examined it carefully. He then took the second blade, of which he knew several chips had come away from the metal. As he scrutinised Barawen’s work, he was amazed at what she had managed. It’s only because he had witnessed his swords had become damaged, else he would never have known they required repairs. The blades looked flawless. 

“Is something wrong?” Barawen asked carefully, suddenly doubting her own skills.

Thranduil shook his head. Barawen was convinced she could hear the ends of his hair brush the fabric of whatever garment he was wearing. 

“Absolutely nothing,” he stated, awe in the tone of his voice.

“They are absolutely perfect… in every way possible,” _as are you_ , he thought.

Barawen smiled. The last thing she had wanted was to disappoint him.

“I’m glad to hear it,” she responded, smiling.

Thranduil looked at her.

“Where are my manners, can I offer you something to drink?” he asked suddenly.

Barawen sighed in relief.

“Oh goodness, yes please… I’m parched,” she admitted.

“Working close to such heat all day long, really demands I replenish my fluids regularly. I’m afraid I have neglected myself somewhat, but there was much to do at the smithy,” she explained, trying not to sound ungrateful, because she wasn’t.

Thranduil collected a decanter of wine from across the room and poured a glass.

“Here you are,” Thranduil stated holding up the glass.

Barawen lifted her hand and reached, until Thranduil realised he needed to bring the glass to her, as she was unable to see where he was holding it.

As soon as she took the glass, she brought the edge of it to her lips and drank. She drank it so quickly, that it made Thranduil silently chuckle.

“More?” he asked smiling.

“I’m sorry… I’m just really thirsty,” she confessed.

Thranduil poured her a second glass, which she downed as quickly as the first.

“Careful, else you won’t be able to find your chambers later,” he grinned.

Barawen could feel he wine work in her head and it dulled her senses. She felt dizzy all of a sudden.

“Let me put the swords away, I will be right back,” Thranduil said as he walked away from her.

She reached out her hands in front of her, until she found the edge of the table. Slowly she felt her way around the table, until she found the decanter, of which she knew it contained the wine she had consumed moments before. Slowly she filled her glass for a third time. After putting the decanter back on the table, she leaned back in the chair, which she found to be quite comfortable.

She listened intently to whatever she could hear around her. She heard the flames of a crackling fire. She could hear Thranduil in the adjoining room. She was able to pick up the sound of a light breeze outside, that gently rolled into the ante-chamber. In the distance, she heard horses snorting in their stables, restless about something or other. Then slowly she sensed all the sounds around her starting to fade, as she was peacefully slipping into an involuntary slumber, brought on so by the wine. Her day had been long, and the wine was clearly strong. She had only briefly sipped the content of her third glass which she had poured for herself and while sleep took her, the content of the glass spilt over the front of her tunic and onto her leggings. She noticed nothing of it all.

Thranduil walked back into the ante-chamber and found Barawen’s slumped form on the chair. He crossed his arms and simply looked at her, chortling almost silently.

“What am I going to do with you?” he said to himself.

She had clearly downed her wine too fast and it added to her already present fatigue. He noticed how more wine had made its way onto her clothes. His heart was in his throat as he noticed the fabric of her tunic cling to her skin.

He walked towards her sleeping form and carefully lifted her in his arms. He carried her to his large bed and laid her down gently in order not to startle her. He quickly collected a wash cloth and freshened up her hands and face by washing some of the soot away. 

He stood and stared at her sleeping form on his bed. He observed the damp, dark stain of wine on her clothes and shook his head. That wouldn’t do at all. He swiftly removed her top clothes and found that the wine had seeped through to her undergarments. He pushed his head back and closed his eyes. Oh, my word he thought in despair, her half-naked form on his bed not exactly leaving him unstirred. He took a deep breath and started to remove her undergarments until she was naked. He briefly stared at her body and though perfect as she was in his eyes, he quickly averted his gaze, swiftly covering her with the quilt on his bed. 

Barawen turned to her side, pushing her head further into the soft pillow and wrapping the quilt around her body more tightly before letting out a deep sigh. Thranduil could only smile. She was extraordinary.

Thranduil’s own fatigue haunted him only moments after. The prospect of sleeping on his sofa was not a welcoming thought. He decided he could risk sleeping next to Barawen fully clothed. There was nothing improper about it. The bed was after all large enough.

He removed his boots and robe, until he wore only thin leggings and a tunic, typically worn beneath his usual outfit. He carefully laid himself down onto the bed, trying not to stir it too much, although he was quite convinced that Mithrandir’s fireworks could not have woken her.

He settled his head on a pillow and just looked at Barawen from his side of the bed. He sighed deeply. He did not understand why, but he was falling for her.

*** 

Barawen woke the next morning. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, resulting in nothing but darkness around her, as had been the case for almost her entire life.

She let her senses take in her environment. These weren’t her chambers? The scent around her was different from what she was used to. She lifted herself in a more sitting position, feeling the bed beneath her. That wasn’t her bed? All of a sudden she realised she was nude beneath the covers. She gasped loudly, causing rustling noises to reach her from the ante-chamber. Someone was walking towards her. Her mouth opened in shock. She recognised Thranduil’s gait effortlessly and in response she gripped the covers around her naked form quickly, tightening her hold on them.

“Good morning,” he said in an amused tone.

“Morning,” she responded completely uneasily.

Thranduil instantly knew what was on her mind.

“You fell asleep here, after you delivered my swords,” he quickly explained to set her mind at ease, though not managing to at all. If anything his words made her even more apprehensive.

“I am so sorry,” Barawen almost whispered, her face in her palms.

“I don’t know what to say… this is… embarrassing,” she said.

Thranduil chuckled, “Somewhat, yes!”

Barawen groaned loudly. She wanted to get away from the bed, the room she was in. She needed to create a distance between her and the king. Her cheeks had turned bright red.

“I… don’t remember much… what…?” she dared not ask.

Thranduil thought her embarrassment was adorable and decided to be a bit vague in conveying truths.

“You drank a little too much wine,” he began.

Barawen closed her eyes, resting her face in her palms again.

“Wine?” she asked.

“You were quite intoxicated… isn’t it strange how intoxication can make you do funny things,” he continued.

“What did I do?” she asked in shock, feeling awful.

“Oh not much… you should be asking what I did?” Thranduil kept up the game.

Barawen tried to remember what had happened the night before with all of the might she could muster, but there was nothing up until the moment where she had returned Thranduil his blades.

She shook her head. Her good reputation had boiled down to nothing.

“When you fell asleep from drinking your wine too quickly, you spilt wine on your clothes. I removed your clothes, because it made no sense to settle you in my bed like that,” he explained, hoping to finally put her mind to rest.

It did nothing of the kind.

“You undressed me? You saw me naked?” she exclaimed loudly.

Though amused he was, Thranduil concluded that there was nothing he could say that would calm her, so he decided to change the subject.

“I will find someone to assist you in getting ready for the day. You can bathe and get dressed here, until you are ready to resume your duties,” he said quietly, before turning and removing himself from her presence.

Barawen felt tremendously embarrassed. Never had she been in a situation where she had little to no control. She hated it. And why was the king so nice to her? Would he have done the same for others?

Thranduil could sense Barawen’s apprehension from the next room, as her head had been filled with concern. He frowned. This felt odd. Had he involuntarily bonded with her mind? The bond was not strong, as he knew it could be, having experienced it with his son’s mother, but that bond took centuries to forge. He was confused.

*** 

Thranduil stood clear from Barawen in the days that followed, to allow her to recover from her obvious embarrassment. He did however observe her from a distance. He could sense her state of emotion if she was close enough. He sensed the turmoil in her head, although he couldn’t quite understand the root of that turmoil. He suspected it was related to her unexpected way of waking up several days prior. 

He had a strong desire to get to know her, although he wasn’t sure how to go about it. The longer he thought about it, the more he considered her proposal to have his twin blades imbued for additional power. She seemed to understand how certain gems combined with specific weapons could give the most extraordinary results. He decided to approach her in the next day or so.

Barawen kept herself busy, trying desperately to preoccupy her mind with anything but the thoughts of what she had recently experienced. She had never felt so ill-at-ease as the moment she woke up in a strange bed, not knowing what had happened. And this was the king’s bed even. She shook her head. Hopefully the king would not pay her any unexpected visits, as she was certain she would not know how to tolerate it. 

She was working on repairing a cauldron that one of the cooks in the kitchens had brought to her. It was made of precious copper, and the cook insisted on holding on to it rather than parting with it forever. 

She was gently hammering away onto the metal, trying to shape the curves around the damaged part. All of a sudden, she felt sharp pangs in her head.

“Oh no, not again,” she softly cursed, before she sank to the ground in pain, her teeth clenched.

She held her head between her two hands as she buckled forward, attempting to find a position that would relieve her.

Unexpectedly she felt warmth on her back, before realising someone had put a hand on her, undoubtedly to provide a certain ease of suffering.

She did not know who it was, nor did she care. The warmth felt soothing and within mere moments the pain ebbed away and she was able to open her eyes again.

As she opened her eyes, she was astounded by her vision. Things were not dark around her, as she had expected. She detected a hint of light. She turned to where the fire was and as she did, she clearly noticed how her vision brightened. Her breathing quickened. What was happening to her?

“Are you feeling a bit better now?” a deep calm voice, which she recognised as Thranduil’s, asked.

Barawen didn’t immediately answer, though ultimately she responded in the only way she could.

“I’m not sure,” she spoke carefully, her expression seeking answers to the many questions that dwelled in her mind.

“You are not sure?” Thranduil wondered.

She lifted her face towards where she knew Thranduil was, guided by his voice.

“I’m not… what did you do?” she asked in an almost demanding tone.

“I tried to ease your pain,” he replied, remembering the previous time she had collapsed in sheer agony in his presence. 

“You did more than that,” she practically whispered.

“What do you mean?”

Barawen let out a deep sigh.

“I have always lived in darkness, for as long as I can remember. Yet now… for the first time in my life, I’m able to somewhat distinguish between light and dark. When I turn to face the fire, I can clearly see the darkness disappearing, while light appears in my view,” she explained in awe of the developments she just described.

“I do believe your lack of eyesight is altering,” he spoke enigmatically, as he felt that what he had done was possibly the very reason of the change.

While Barawen clearly looked like she was troubled by recent events, Thranduil spoke in a determined voice.

“Can I ask you to join me for dinner in my chambers this evening. I am curious of your background, how you have managed to live and excel at your skills, all while being blind?”

Barawen’s facial expression turned to one of sadness.

“You make it sound like that’s something of a reason for sorrow… my lack of vision has amplified my other senses. My touch, my hearing, my sense of smell… they have been developed like no one else’s… and I would grieve, for certain, if they were ever lost to me,” she tried to explain.

“It is true, perhaps my life would have been easier had I been able to see, but then I may never have had the fortune of having the gift that was bestowed upon me.”

Barawen stopped talking.

“Gift?” Thranduil wondered.

“It’s a long story,” Barawen tried to avoid going into it further, not wanting to burden the king with it.

“Tonight… we will have time to discuss it… but now… I have duties to attend to… as I’m sure you do as well,” he nodded, moving to exit the smithy.

Thranduil was clearly not used to taking _no_ for an answer, because even before she was able to provide some sort of response to his invitation, he had disappeared again. 

She raised her eyebrows. Very well… she was to dine with the king… who could even consider saying _no_ to that?

*** 

Barawen knocked on the door to Thranduil’s chambers. She reminded herself to stay away from the wine, as that did not work out so well the previous time she visited the king. After a curt command from inside his living quarters, she entered, unsure where to move to. She remembered a table and the chair she sat in before, but she had no idea of other pieces of furniture in the room.

“Barawen,” Thranduil approached her.

“Welcome… please be seated,” he kindly requested, beckoning her to follow his voice to where to find her chair.

She could not see the food that was evidently on the table, but she knew exactly it was there. Her nose never deceived her. She smiled.

“That smells absolutely wonderful,” she said as she could hear her stomach talking to her.

“I do not know what you like, so I had an assortment of things brought here.”

Barawen had to admit that the king knew how to be a proper host. Slowly they started to pick their way at the food. Thranduil watched as she brushed her fingers along the plates on the table. Occasionally she asked Thranduil to tell her what was on the plate her fingers were touching. He was patient and obliged.

The mood became light-hearted and soon Thranduil was asking her about her being blind and how she had gone through life without any kind of vision.

“I do not know any better… so I’m quite used to it, just sometimes…” she smiled.

“You mentioned _a gift_ earlier today, what did you mean by that?” Thranduil was curious.

Barawen turned her face. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to say anything about it, as she wasn’t certain how this kind of information would be perceived. Thranduil sensed her hesitation and spoke.

“You _can_ trust me, but if you don’t want to talk about it, that is also fine,” he said not wanting to push her.

Strangely enough, Barawen _did_ feel like she could trust the king. In fact she had never felt more confident about trusting anyone as much, save for her father and her brothers. 

She finally spoke.

“I get visions,” she blurted out.

Thranduil raised his eyebrows in surprise, but somehow the rest of his face did not seem to be surprised at all.

“When we met, we made an agreement… and we shook on it… was that something that triggered a vision?” he asked, as he recalled her body going into a rigid state upon touching him.

She nodded.

“I have welcomed many people come into my smithy… I always make it a point of sealing a deal or agreement by the shaking of hands. When I do, I see images. They seem to be images of a nearby future. I’m looking through the eyes of the person I’m touching,” she explained.

“I have seen horrible things, but fortunately they were things that had yet come to pass and therefore I was able to… _intervene_ ,” she turned her face downwards.

“It can be a gift on occasion, but sometimes it is a curse,” she said softly.

“Some images, as events in life, can be disturbing, but if you have managed to save lives because of them, then I think you have been blessed with a gift… not a curse,” Thranduil indicated.

“One of the reasons I have invited you here this evening is because of your ailment, of which you already said you do not see it as such. I do not believe you are blind indefinitely. Earlier today, I had not just tried to comfort you… I had in fact turned some of my healing powers on you… the result you witnessed shortly after. I must believe that, should you choose to, you _can_ be healed.”

“One of my gifts is that I am able to heal. I am blessed with such magic, because I am a high-born elf… please do tell, who were your parents?” he treaded with care.

A sudden sadness washed over her.

“I do not know. They perished in an orc-attack when I was very young. My adoptive father and brothers did not know who my parents were, there were so many bodies,” she spoke with tears in her eyes.

“I’m sorry to hear it,” he felt his heart break for her.

“The reason I’m asking is… gifts such as yours are rare, even among elves. It is the kind of magic that typically resides in those who are born in nobility… your name… it is a Sindar word… do you know what it means?” he looked at her quizzically.

She shook her head.

“It means _fiery maiden_ … fitting, don’t you think?” she could hear the smile on him as he spoke.

“I have reason to believe you are no ordinary elf… which is something I already concluded long ago… but what you told me just now, made me more certain than ever. What’s more, I don’t think your gift is in any way related to you not being able to see.”

Barawen swallowed hard. She wasn’t certain how to deal with what Thranduil had shared with her. His words did something to her. She felt drawn to him more so than before. He understood her…somehow.

Suddenly she felt quite apprehensive. There were only few she had ever shared such intimate details with, yet Thranduil had managed to have her open up to him so easily and it scared her.

“I’m sorry, but I should go… I have a short night ahead and an early start again tomorrow,” she apologised.

She rose from her chair. She heard Thranduil do the same and within moments he was by her side.

“Please don’t go,” he whispered, as he put his hands on her hips, of which he knew it was quite a bold thing to do.

Her breathing quickened, but in response she slowly lifted her hands to have them rest on his chest. She felt Thranduil’s fingers on her chin, lifting her face towards his own. She could hear him move and then, tenderly, his lips rested on hers. The warmth of his mouth made her dizzy, but there was so much care in his action, that she could feel her knees grow weak. Thranduil noticed, but said nothing. He parted from her and gazed at her face.

“It seems you have more gifts than one… hundreds of years have come to pass since I had unfortunately parted with my wife, yet you are the first to have managed to find your way into my heart within such a short period of time somehow, and I’m not certain what to do with myself,” he confessed.

Barawen’s heart jumped and she allowed her hand to snake from his chest upwards, to his neck, as she pulled him down for another kiss. Thranduil applied the same tenderness as before, but Barawen parted her lips, inviting him in for more.

She could feel his tongue explore the heated depths of her mouth. He could taste the juice she had been drinking moments before. He decided to move forward, by wrapping his arms around her waist and shoulders, pulling her to him. Barawen gasped, feeling his full physique against her own. Her mind wandered, wondering what he was hiding beneath his tunic. While Thranduil ravished her, he fumbled with her clothes, undoing the bindings on the front of both the tunic as well as her leggings. He noticed that his connection with her mind had fortified. He was much aware of the love she was willing to give him. He would let her, as much as he would return the favour. 

Just moments later, Barawen stood before him naked, while he had only just begun to shed his own clothes, wearing only an undershirt and leggings. He took a small step back and looked upon her almost flawless body.

“You are beautiful,” he simply managed, while she looked away shyly.

“I have no concept of what is beautiful, not until I touch it or I am able to compare it to something else,” she whispered apologetically.

Thranduil considered her words and lifted her up in his arms, walking in the direction of the large bed that stood in the adjoining bedroom.

He settled her on the bed. She sat on her knees, unknown of what would be next. Thranduil also sat on his knees opposite of her. He held her wrists and guided her hands onto his chest.

“It seems I have an unfair advantage… I can see you, but you can’t see me,” he said and Barawen instantly understood what he was trying to tell her. Her hands would have to be her eyes. Her fingers slowly brushed against the fabric of the tunic he was wearing.

The fabric had parted somewhat in the front and carefully she slipped her fingers underneath to touch his bare skin. He gasped. She could feel the goose bumps on his skin. _I’m doing that_ , she thought to herself, a wave of confidence flowing through her.

“Yes, you are,” Thranduil responded.

Barawen’s mouth opened in surprise.

“You can…?” she stopped.

“I can sense you and sometimes I can _hear_ you or even see what you’re _seeing_ ,” Thranduil explained, leaving Barawen with more questions than answers.

Thranduil assisted in removing his tunic, leaving his bare torso exposed to her touch. His leggings soon followed leaving him completely naked before her.

Her fingers explored, enthralled by his toned physique. Were all elves like this? She had after all only been with dwarfs before.

“You will find that I am unlike any dwarf,” he said as he understood what her mind was telling him.

“I have not been much impressed by the dwarfs’… performance,” she swallowed hard, finding it difficult to believe that she was even uttering the words.

“As I said, I am not like any dwarf,” he reiterated his previous words.

Barawen moved the tips of her fingers along the skin of his pectorals. She felt his long hair tickle the back of her hands, telling her his hair would easily reach his lower back. She moved to feel the shape of his shoulders, before slowly moving her way down. She rested them for a brief moment on his abdomen. She felt the muscles flex under her touch. He was ticklish. She smiled to herself as her fingers wandered lower. 

She knew what she would find there, but not before she could feel the velvet softness of the fuzz around his pubic area. She heard Thranduil accelerate his breathing. She could however not see him behold her every move.

As her hands travelled lower, she landed her fingers on his erection. That was for her. Slowly she moved her way from the tip towards the base. Her jaw dropped slowly, clearly impressed.

“You approve?” he asked softly.

She slowly took him in her hands.

“Do you need my approval?” she wondered.

He moaned at the way she touched him.

“No… I do not… but I prefer it when we are equally willing and appreciative,” he stated.

She had slowly started to move her hand up and down his shaft.

“I am willing… are you?” she now asked in a teasing tone.

“More than… since the first moment I beheld you,” he responded, as he had closed his eyes. Barawen’s heart skipped a beat. She had never been quite so attracted to anyone before and she did not even know what he looked like.

Thranduil lifted his hand as his fingers slowly found their way onto her skin. Her collarbone at first, then her breasts. He squeezed the soft flesh as his thumbs caressed the delicate area in the centre of them. The touch elicited a small moan from her lips, which made Thranduil’s mouth corners curl up in content.

His hands found their way down, until he reached her mound, the hair on it as soft as the furs he wore in winter. As he lowered his fingers, he found her throbbing bud and the damp that went along with it.

“So wet already, and we haven’t even started yet,” he whispered.

“You will find that elves take great pride in offering their sexual partners pleasure… if you are wondering about the elves’ performance, fret not… let me show you instead,” he smiled at her.

She had lowered herself from her kneeling position to lying on the soft bed, on her back. She knew not where Thranduil was. She found it difficult to hear him, after he had also shed his clothes. 

Suddenly she felt his hands on her thighs, gently urging her to part them, so he could settle between them. She gave him permission. 

She had expected his weight on her torso and his hips between her legs, before his shaft would invade her. She was wrong. She could feel his long, soft hair brushing the insides of her thighs. What was he doing? Before she could formulate an answer of any kind in her mind, she felt his lips around her throbbing flesh, his tongue on her delicate bud shortly after. She pushed her head back, as he licked and sucked. She had never felt anything like it before and it was driving her crazy.

Thranduil sensed her surprise and smiled, not parting his mouth from her core. 

Barawen’s mind was overloading. There were so many sensations and emotions that seemed to be brought about by her lover’s actions, that she knew not how to deal with them. She squealed softly, telling Thranduil exactly that what he was doing was pleasurable to her. 

As his mouth was performing magic, he slowly brought his long and strong fingers to her entrance. He carefully pushed his middle finger into the slick heat. Barawen lifted her rear off the bed in ecstasy as she groaned loudly at the sudden, though welcome, invasion. He crooked his finger to ensure her most precious spot would receive the attention it had never received before. Barawen squeaked, not knowing what was happening to her. Thranduil, however, knew exactly what he was doing. The female body held no secrets for him and he was determined to show her.

Slowly Barawen felt a sensation emerge from incredibly deep down. It was something she had never experienced before and she lay wide-eyed before the king, in awe of what he was doing to her. Was this what it truly meant to be properly loved and pleasured by a partner? Had she really been a stranger to the secrets of intimacy? Or had she simply not been with the right partners before? She did not have the answer to any of these questions, as her mind seemed to be in total lock down, while Thranduil was giving her the attention she never knew she craved.

Thranduil sensed the walls of her insides tighten around his finger. It was a sure sign that her climax was trying to find its way out.

He retracted his finger quickly before settling his hips between her thighs. He stared at her for a moment, before lowering his lips onto hers. His tongue founds its way into her mouth again and as her tongue met his, she felt his shaft push into her agonisingly slow. She lifted her knees, to ease him entering. In response, Thranduil rested his hands on the back of her thighs to intensify his actions, while resting his torso onto hers. He understood that his weight was almost on her fully, but she seemed to handle it fine.

It didn’t take much longer before he had entered her fully, as her lubricated entrance simply allowed it. He looked at the bliss that was on her face, a smile adorned her expression, awaiting what was going to be next. Then he started to move, gyrating his hips to push into her deeply, massaging her walls and her precious spot. Barawen curled one leg around his lower back, while she lifted the other even higher than before, allowing Thranduil to penetrate her more deeply. The position tightened her entrance, trapping him inside and it made him grunt loudly. This elleth was going to be the death of him if he did not take care.

She could feel him pick up his pace all of a sudden. His thrusts intensified and she gasped every single time he pushed himself back into her. She could feel the sweat collect between them, as their bodies rubbed together. Barawen could sense him holding back, as if he felt it necessary to take it easy on her.

“Don’t hold back,” she told him tenderly.

Thranduil groaned.

“I will _not_ finish first,” he gritted his teeth in a determined tone, desperate to keep his high away.

Barawen’s eyes widened. _Finish_? She had never finished before, let alone before her sexual partner had. 

All of a sudden he pulled out and gently pushed her to her side, while settling himself behind her. He lifted her outer leg and without warning entered her with one fluent thrust from behind. He snaked his hand beneath her neck, while firmly holding his other hand in place over her abdomen. She felt him pound into her with force, making the skin of her backside shake with every single intrusion. She pushed her head back against his shoulder.

“Thranduil… what… are you doing?” she moaned and gasped loudly, her imminent climax upon her.

“That’s it… you’re getting there, _meleth nîn_ ,” he told her.

For a moment she did not understand. Getting her where? Right there and then, Thranduil lowered the hand from her abdomen to the core between her legs. While thrusting into her deeply and at a significant speed, he rubbed her clitoris with small circular movements. Barawen could do nothing but explode at his touch.

She let out a carnal grunt that screamed that this was a first for her.

“That’s right, sweetheart… just like that,” he whispered against her ear, still sheathing himself deeply into her body repeatedly.

She could feel her body shake in the aftermath of an incredible orgasm, while Thranduil was about to finish himself.

Then suddenly, she felt him tighten his grip on her, as he spasmed and released his hot load deep within her folds. He pushed into her several times more, as he shook to ensure she would take it all.

Barawen slowly lowered her outer leg, while Thranduil remained buried inside of her. She was desperate to catch her breath, but on the other hand she did not want to lose the sensation that he had managed to make her feel. She had never known it could be like this. Thranduil picked up on her surprise and nuzzled her neck in response.

Their breathing calmed and Barawen felt her eyelids grow heavy. That was a first. Being as sated as she was, sleep had desperately reached out to her and was drawing her into a slumber. 

She felt Thranduil remove himself from her insides, before adjusting the large quilted cover around them, to ensure they would not be cold.

Barawen was quite content to remain on her side, feeling as though she was unable to move anyway. 

Thranduil simply settled behind her and coiled his arm around her waist before kissing her shoulder blade.

“Sleep now, my _fiery maiden_ ,” he whispered, as he too was overcome by sleep.

She did.

***


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The morning came too soon. Duties beckoned for Thranduil as well as Barawen. Slowly they stirred awake from the depths of their sleep. Barawen had at one point managed to turn towards Thranduil, as she now lay half sprawled across his front, her hand resting lazily on his collarbone, while her head was on his shoulder, just beneath his chin. 

“Good morning, my darling,” he responded, as he noticed a change in her breathing.

A smile formed on her mouth. 

She lifted her hand and started to let her fingers run along the features of his face. She touched his brow, his thick and prominent eyebrows, which felt so soft to the touch. Her fingers lowered and she found he had strong and high cheekbones. Below the cheekbones were chiselled jaws and finally she let her fingers glide along his strong nose, to his shapely lips. The king was perfect, she thought to herself.

“I am not,” he croaked sleepily.

“Far from it even, but I do try to be a good king to my people,” he said.

Barawen knew that to be true, having heard the stories from those who resided in the palace. While perhaps he seemed cold and indifferent to outsiders, he most certainly was not. 

“Now I no longer keep secrets from you, you know what I look like, as much as I know what you look like… I do hope you’re not… disappointed,” he smiled.

Barawen admitted to herself that she could never be disappointed in Thranduil, especially after their intimate union the night before. Thranduil raised his eyebrows as he sensed her thoughts. 

“You don’t look how I imagined you to look like… then again I don’t have much to go on,” she confessed.

“How?” Thranduil smirked.

“You’re not quite so hairy,” she grinned.

Thranduil let out a loud laugh. 

“Let’s blame evolution for that, shall we?” he joked.

Silence fell between them.

“What happens now?” Barawen wondered.

Thranduil sighed.

“I do not know, my darling Barawen, but my life won’t be the same without you, that is all I know,” he admitted.

“I’m confused. I have never fallen for anyone. It’s difficult without being able to see. There is no attraction by means of glances or looks, I do not know whether someone is handsome just by talking to them. I can feel drawn to someone if the conversations become deeper, if interactions become meaningful… like when you comforted me when I suffered from those insufferable headaches… that meant something to me… and before I knew it, I wanted to become one with you so desperately… that…” she had stopped talking, after her voice had turned to nothing but a simple whisper.

Thranduil pulled her against him.

“Sshht, it’s okay… the way you do things, is simply done… differently… and I do believe it is for that reason alone that you managed to sneak your way into my heart, because you are different… in more ways than one. The first moment I laid my eyes on you, your beauty, how you were making your way around the smithy at Erebor, the meticulous way you went about things, was just so appealing. Once I got past that image, the sweat and soot on your face and arms… I just wanted to lift you up, get you naked and bathe you… _myself_ … and do more,” he sounded as though those very thoughts shamed him. 

Barawen blushed and in response Thranduil kissed the top of her head.

“I am going to speak with my healers. I am convinced that your eyesight is not lost forever… that is… if you have no objection,” he quickly added.

“I have no objection, as long as my gift will not be lost in the healing process,” she spoke with concern.

“We might want to consult Mithrandir on that and if you are in agreement, I will send word to him,” Thranduil offered.

“But first… a bath,” he suddenly exclaimed as he abandoned Barawen in bed.

She could hear his footsteps move away from her, though she was uncertain where he went, not knowing what else was there in his chambers.

“Oh, this is perfect,” she could hear him speak in the distance, before he padded back to the bed.

Then all of a sudden she felt herself lifted into his arms, her naked body cradled against his. She felt them descend, as though Thranduil walked down stairs of sorts. She was not entirely wrong. They were in fact the steps leading into his bath. He slowly lowered them both into the warm water. She closed her eyes in bliss. She could get used to this. The next moment she smelled flowery aromas in the water. Jasmine, lavender and other flowers she was unable to name. She allowed Thranduil to wash her long hair and she returned the favour by washing his. 

When they were clean, she turned to face him, her fingers on his collarbone. Thranduil’s expression had become rigid, though she did not immediately notice by his posture. What she did notice however, was the hard shaft that rested between them. Her eyes grew wide and before she understood what happened, Thranduil had lifted her up, while she wrapped her legs around his waist. Barawen held onto his neck and shoulders firmly as he slowly lowered her around him. 

Barawen brought her face to his shoulder and lightly bit the flesh as he entered her. Then he slowly moved to lift and lower her onto him repeatedly. The water made it easy, as she half floated anyway. Barawen responded to Thranduil’s movements, by crossing her ankles around him, pushing herself up and releasing herself again to sheath his erection over and over. Thranduil brought his mouth to hers, his lips already parted for more than just a tender connection. A deep passion exploded between them, and as their mouths were sealed, his thrusts intensified and sped up. Barawen could feel his fingers behind her exercise a slight pressure as he grazed the fingers of one hand along the gap between the cheeks of her backside. It caused her to moan loudly and it told Thranduil to massage the gap as well as her cheeks. Barawen did not know how exactly, but his hands on her rear like that, was a tremendous turn on for her. She moved her hips to meet his thrusts and before long, she felt the muscles in her abdomen tighten as her climax was finally upon her. She loudly screamed out his name and that was all he needed to explode himself, spurting his semen deep within her as he was only able to manage the words _Oh, Barawen_ against her mouth.

Thranduil slipped himself out of her folds and just embraced her briefly. He then took the scented oils and poured some of it onto his hand, before bringing the same hand to her core to clean her. When he was done, he proceeded to wash his softening shaft. As he did, he sensed an incredible amount of love coming from Barawen as she let herself float in the bath water. The emotion was so strong, that it almost made him want to cry. Instead, however, he sat himself down on one of the steps of the large bath and pulled her towards him to sit between his legs, her back against him, her body resting on his, while her hands were placed on his strong thighs. He could easily look forward to a lifetime of doing this… with _her_.

*** 

The next several days seemed to follow Thranduil’s and Barawen’s old routine, with one big difference and that is that she spent every night in his bed, instead of her own. They made love every single evening and on occasion they would wake in the middle of the night for even more moments of passionate intimacy. Barawen could not get enough of Thranduil, nor could he get enough of her. He could sense it through their union, as words remained unspoken.

Often Barawen stirred restlessly as she slept, haunted by dreams and images of which Thranduil knew were brought on by her visions. He had no desire to continuously invade her privacy, but when he felt she was exceptionally troubled in her sleep, he allowed himself to see what she was dreaming of, as it allowed him to appropriately comfort her. For someone who was blind, she had seen things no one should have to bear in one lifetime alone. He would make sure to be there for her whenever she needed him.

*** 

The orange heat from the fire in the smithy hit Barawen hard, as she had to feed the fire especially hot for a special assignment she was working on. This was no mere sword or axe that needed shaping, but rather a large piece of metal that she would ultimately turn into an ornamental chandelier Thranduil had specifically requested she make one for the centre part of the ceiling in the Great Hall. While his request was specific in terms of size, he let her have full control over what the design of the chandelier should look like. At one point she had managed to get hold of the brooch he typically wore on his tunic in the front below his collarbones. She allowed her fingers to see the shape of it and she decided to include similar shapes in the chandelier. Thranduil told her that there was no rush, so if other customers had requests for weaponry or repairs, she should allow them priority. 

A strange rustling alerted her on a presence in her smithy. She straightened herself and faced whoever had entered her domain. 

“How may I be of service to you,” she asked kindly.

There was no response, though she heard more rustling, only this time closer.

“I require a specialty item,” the voice said, in a tone that seemed undefined.

“And what exactly is this specialty item?” Barawen asked, squinting her eyes in suspicion, although she could not see her customer.

“A mace,” the voice simply said.

She raised her eyebrows.

“And this is a specialty item, why exactly?” she wondered, having created many maces in the past.

“I need the blades on it to be quadruply folded… is that possible?” her customer asked.

Barawen nodded.

“It’s possible, but can I ask what you are thinking to use the mace for?” 

The answer she received was simple.

“To kill those pesky giant spiders with their rock hard pincers in the forest.”

Barawen suddenly realised what he meant and where his request was coming from. It was after all Thranduil who had requested her to repair his twin blades, which too had met with the spiders’ pincers, managing to chip the metal. 

“Very well… this can be done, but it might take some time…” she was unable to finish her sentence.

“I will need it in two days. The king has ordered to rid the borders of the realm from those foul eight-legged creatures for good… the threat has become significant as of late,” the elf explained.

Barawen knew he wasn’t lying. Thranduil had mentioned the increased danger of spiders invading their lands only several days prior. They were becoming bold and needed to be dealt with.

She nodded and extended her hand, waiting for her new customer to take it.

As he did, images flowed through her mind. She did not reveal any of her gift to the elf shaking her hand, but what she saw made her heart stop.

The images were dark, but she could see the elf holding the mace up. She noticed him approach the king’s private chambers. She was startled as there were no guards posted outside. The elf entered without a problem and within moments he was by the bed where Thranduil was sound asleep, though he was alone in bed. Why was she not there? What happened next made her heart stop. The bloodshed was not like anything she had seen before. On the inside she broke completely, but on the outside she remained stoic to ensure the elf would notice nothing.

She pulled her hand back quickly.

“Your name?” she needed to know.

“Fintalon,” came the response.

“Come back in two days,” she said curtly, after which her customer left.

As soon as he was gone, she sank to the floor, her face full of grief, her mouth open, though no sound was coming out. She buckled over onto the ground, her knees on the gritty surface. After a few moments, she lifted herself into a more upright position. Then she stood. She had to do something. Under normal circumstances she would have alerted Thranduil, but he was going to be away for at least six or even seven more days.

She would have to keep a proverbial eye out for this Fintalon until she knew when he would act. At least Thranduil would be safe for the next days to come. She could keep track of him after delivering the mace. 

Barawen had briefly considered creating a mace that was flawed, but she did not see how this would do less of a damage to anyone. Besides, Fintalon was sure to inspect her handy work.

Two days had passed and the mace was ready. Sure enough as her day ended, Fintalon appeared at the smithy. She pretended to be kind and showed him what she had made for him. She couldn’t see it, but he nodded in appreciation.

“Very nice,” he almost whispered.

Fintalon handed her the payment owed and as he did, their fingers brushed against one another. The same images as before invaded her mind, though this time she noticed details. The hallway he was moving along, was adorned with banners of a dark shade. She was not entirely certain what she was seeing, until she recalled overhearing one of the elleths on Thranduil’s staff, that they would be quite busy decorating the great hall as well as the hallways, in honour of the coming of the super moon. She concluded that those were the celebratory banners she was seeing.

Fintalon had left the smithy, taking the newly fabricated mace with him. 

Barawen was again in shock. The super moon was tonight. She was confused, however, as Thranduil had not yet returned from his trip. Had her visions been mistaken? 

***


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Evening fell quickly and celebrations were ongoing. Everyone’s mood had been ecstatic, though Barawen was on edge ever since Fintalon had collected his mace. For once, she had no idea whether her visions were accurate or not. So far they had never had been inaccurate. She had to assume her visions were a portrayal of what lay ahead this time around as well. She would take no chances.

With the help of Pilinder, Barawen had kept track of Fintalon all evening, until she was informed that he was slipping away. 

She followed Fintalon into the hallway, indicated by Pilinder. Once she managed to enter the quiet hallway, she recognised Fintalon’s gait and continued to not be far behind. What was he up to?

Fintalon kept going up and down stairwells, entering one hallway after another, but he did not seem to move towards a specific destination. Had he caught on that he was being followed?

Suddenly he stopped. She could hear metal scrape against rock from a distance. She understood. He had picked up the mace and was now heading to wherever he felt he needed to be. She recognised the area she was in and as she was behind him, she noticed that he had continued to move towards Thranduil’s chambers. She was confused. Thranduil was not there. What was he doing?

Fintalon was picking up speed and the distance between him and Barawen increased. She had to move quicker.

“Lady Barawen,” a voice came behind her. She recognised it as the voice that belonged to one of Thranduil’s guards.

She turned.

“The king has requested I convey a message to you. He has returned from his trip early and was looking to have a rest before finding you. The king has asked me to tell you to find him instead, in case I ran into you before he woke from his rest… and now I have,” he bowed, before turning on the spot. 

Barawen’s heart halted and she gasped for air. Thranduil was in danger. She had to hurry.

As fast as she could manage it, she ran through the hallways. She could feel her heart beat in her throat and hear the blood rushing through her veins. She heard nothing around her. She hoped she would not crash into anyone, because she would not be able to hear anyone coming.

She finally reached Thranduil’s chambers. The door stood slightly ajar. Instinctively she reached for the dagger which permanently resided on her belt. She slipped into the dark and listened carefully, which was not an easy task. All she could hear was her heart beating violently. She needed to calm herself. As she silently padded across the ante-chamber, she heard Fintalon move towards the bed, where she knew Thranduil would be asleep.

Fintalon whispered.

“This is for not granting me my wish to woo the woman I want to marry.”

She could hear him move away from her, meaning Fintalon was closing the distance between himself and Thranduil.

Barawen could not afford to wait any longer and within the blink of an eye, she was upon him, the dagger to his throat. Fintalon however, appeared to be much stronger than she was and managed to easily push her away. In the brief altercation that followed, he had dropped the mace onto the floor. 

Barawen was ready to strike again, until she heard Thranduil stir. As he did, she could hear Fintalon move away in a hurried fashion, hurling himself from the balcony of the sleeping quarters. He was gone.

She walked back in the direction of where she knew he had dropped the mace and picked it up. Her breathing was erratic, as she stood in a stance of attack, holding both dagger as well as mace, not sure whether Fintalon would return or not.

“What in the blazes is the meaning of this?” a deep voice bellowed. Thranduil was awake.

“Barawen?” he uttered in disbelief, as he eyed her, fury in her expression, weapons in her hand.

“You mean to kill me?” he hissed at her, his own posture on high alert.

“Thranduil, no… let me explain,” she tried, but it seemed his anger was of such a magnitude that nothing could be done to subside it.

“You mean to _kill_ me?” he asked again, demanding an answer.

“No… not me… I… I had visions… the person trying to kill you managed to escape,” she tried to explain.

“How convenient… that the culprit has flown,” he now thundered.

Thranduil’s booming voice had not gone unnoticed by his guards. They came crashing into the ante-chamber, instantly moving towards the sleeping quarters. 

The guards concluded the same as Thranduil had already done. Barawen was there, alone, weapons in her hand, looking as though she was ready to attack her king. 

Tears gathered in her eyes.

“Thranduil… I’m telling you the truth… do you not trust me? I love you!” she shouted.

“You _love_ me? I think you set this all up to get close to me, so you could kill me in my bed,” he again raised his voice with a certain disdain in it.

“Do you hate me so much for taking you away from Erebor, from your beloved dwarfs… you should have stayed with them… you do not fit in with the elves… you are no elf… you can rot in my dungeon for all I care,” he gritted his teeth, his anger hanging over his eyes. 

Barawen had never been so scared of him. Yet she meant what she said only moments ago. She did love him, but it seemed he now hated her and a life with Thranduil had all of a sudden become impossible. Why did he not listen to her? What reason could she possibly have to kill the one she loved with all of her being. Her heart cried. It mattered not. If there was no trust between them, then it was never meant to be. And within moments, her grief was starting to be replaced by anger.

“Take her away,” he bellowed at his guards, giving the order to escort her to his dungeons. 

Barawen was slightly in shock, as she willingly walked with the guards towards the lower parts of the palace. She was shoved into one of the dungeon’s holding cells roughly. She stood with her back towards the cell door for a long time. Her heart was broken, but she refused to show it. If this is how he wanted to do this, then maybe she should sever all connections she had with him. She understood that any pleas would fall on deaf ears, therefore there was only one way out of this mess. She had to somehow get out of the palace, somewhere far away from _him_ … out of his mind and out of his heart.

*** 

Barawen had thought long and hard on how she would try and escape Thranduil’s dungeons. She decided to wait until the next meal run and trick the guard by luring him into her cell. She was skilled enough in melee combat, that she thought she could easily overpower anyone. She would certainly try, else she had some other ideas on how to escape.

She tried to keep a brave face, but inside she cried, the pain in her heart being near unbearable.

Thranduil could in fact sense her, but forcefully ignored the raw emotions from the elleth he had thought he loved until recently. He sat at the table in his ante-chamber, boring paperwork in front of him. His mind was not on them. She had tried to kill him, but why? His mind was overflowing with questions he did not have answers to. Suddenly he smashed his fists on the wooden surface of the table in front of him and pushed the papers aside aggressively. Damn her.

*** 

Barawen had decided to get some rest, even though it was already near morning. She would need her energy for what lay ahead. She had a plan and that was to get away as far as she possibly could from Thranduil. There was nothing between them anymore. He had made sure of that. Her heart might have been broken, but at least her conscience was clear.

As she closed her eyes, she found it difficult to find sleep. Ultimately her fatigue dominated her state of being and she slipped into a slumber. Her dreams were disturbing, replaying the images of her recent argument with Thranduil, as well as the visions that had triggered her to act in the way she had.

Thranduil lay on his bed, not quite asleep. He could sense that Barawen had finally drifted asleep, but her mind was restless. Curiosity got the better of him. He closed his eyes and fortified the connection that was already present between him and Barawen. She dreamed of the intimate moments she had shared with him. Though he could only perceive her feelings and sensations of those moments, as she did not actually have the eyesight to show what she could not see. He huffed at what his mind was witnessing, convinced that nothing of it had been genuine. 

Then her dreams changed. He listened to a conversation she had with a customer that replayed in her head. As she shook the elf’s hand, the touch triggered visions and he could see the images of the elf slipping into his sleeping quarters, where a massacre took place, where his life ended. Thranduil was in shock. According to Barawen’s visions, he had in fact been destined to die.

Her dreams changed again. This time her mind re-lived the moments prior to him discovering her in his sleeping quarters. He sensed her attacking the culprit who had been responsible for his death in her visions. There was a brief altercation and shortly after, the attacker had fled. In the next moment, he recognised his own thundering voice, accusing Barawen of trying to kill him. She hadn’t tried to kill him… she had tried to save him. She had not just _tried_ , she had _succeeded_. He was alive because of her and in response he had thrown her into his dungeons. What had he done? She had pleaded for him to listen to her, but he wouldn’t. She had told him she loved him. She _loved_ him. She really _did_ love him.

He suddenly got up. He needed to desperately right some wrongs. The one person in his kingdom, the one he had lost his heart to, he had treated as though she was his worst enemy. He buried his head in his hands. What an awful mess he got himself into. He hoped it was not too late for him to make amends. He owed her his life. 

*** 

As soon as Thranduil was ready, he made his way to his dungeons. He had sensed the bitterness overpowering her grief as the early morning progressed. Then suddenly, he had sensed nothing, as though she had deliberately closed off her mind. He would not blame her if she had. Would she be open to his apology? Would she listen to him? He hadn’t listened to her, so it was only fair if she returned him the same courtesy. He admitted to himself that he was heartbroken. He had mistreated her so badly, and unjustly so. His heart craved for her, but he wasn’t sure if her heart craved for him anymore.

As he entered his dungeons, several guards present were fussing and whispering frantically in hushed voices.

“What is the meaning of this?” his voice demanding a response.

“It’s Lady Barawen, my Lord,” one of the guards replied.

“What of her?” Thranduil hissed.

“She has gone,” came the unexpected response.

*** 

Barawen sped through the forest on the fastest horse she was able find in Thranduil’s stables. She was now a thief, having taken one of the horses without the king’s consent. She kept her head low to ensure she wouldn’t get swiped off the horse by any low branches. She was desperate to create a distance between her and Thranduil, else he would be able to enter her mind and track her. That was the last thing she wanted. The wind rushed against her face. On occasion a twig would sweep against her cheek, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. She had another hurt that was far greater, and it was the kind of hurt that resided in her heart. She felt the moisture from her eyes slide across the skin of her face, while trying to focus on her breathing. Where she would go, she knew not, but she needed to get out of the forest first. There were simply too many dangers lurking in the dark shadows that the forest had to offer. She would go south. Perhaps she could find a new life among men, where she knew no one would question her or try to find her. Gondor could provide her with a new destiny.

*** 

Thranduil was overwhelmed by his grief of losing Barawen. His feelings for her were rooted deeper than he could have ever deemed possible. He had no one to blame but himself for her sudden departure. His mind searched for hers, for a connection of any kind that could disclose her whereabouts. But he sensed nothing. She was too far gone and he knew not in which direction she had decided to go.

He, however, refused to give up. She simply meant too much to him. He quickly assembled a party of several guards. They would search in all directions of Middle-Earth and he would not stop until she was found. Unless she did not want to be found, that was his biggest fear. He thought about the situation. Surely a blind elf would stand out? He would do well to call upon his connections in all the corners of Middle-Earth.

Thranduil busied himself with the task of finding his beloved. Days passed. Days turned into moons, that came and went. There was no trace of her and every time he returned to the palace, he died a little on the inside. 

His subjects had noticed the change in their king. As happy as he had seemed before, it was his grief that dominated him as of late. His son, Legolas, had tried to aid his father to the best of his abilities, but to no avail. The king was inconsolable and it hurt him deeply. Thranduil had never given his son an order of any kind, but Legolas had taken it upon himself to search for Barawen, when his father couldn’t muster the energy. He was tired, he was in pain.

Then an unexpected guest appeared one day, that changed everything.

“Mithrandir, _mae g’ovannen_ ,” Thranduil greeted the wizard Gandalf.

“My dearest, Thranduil, it is good to see you again, although it seems I’m seeing you under disturbing circumstances. You do not look well, _mellon nîn_ , what ails you?” Gandalf genuinely wondered.

Thranduil did not immediately speak, but Gandalf was no fool. He had heard of the king having bedded an elleth for the first time since the passing of his wife centuries ago. Yet there was no one by his side as the king had greeted him. The king had a broken heart.

“It is a complicated matter,” Thranduil simply responded.

“Matters of the heart usually are, my friend,” Gandalf indicated, as he was lighting the tobacco in his pipe. 

Thranduil raised his eyebrows and stared at Gandalf in disbelief. 

“Oh, do not look so surprised, my dearest Thranduil, there are but few secrets that Middle-Earth holds for me, and the fact that you have found love again is not one of them,” he grinned.

His face turned more earnest.

“Though it seems that you have also _lost_ in love, or am I mistaken?” he looked at Thranduil quizzically.

Thranduil merely sighed and rested his face in his hands.

“I have made such a mess of things, Mithrandir,” he said as he explained what had happened several moons ago, without revealing details of the gift that Barawen carried with her as a burden sometimes.

Gandalf let him speak until he was done and then took a deep drag from the mouth piece of his pipe.

“Then allow me to share my good news with you, my friend. I am very much aware of where Barawen has been and still is,” Gandalf stated without losing his concentration on loosening the tobacco in the pipe he was holding.

Thranduil’s eyes grew large and grabbing a fistful of Gandalf’s robe, urging him to share Barawen’s whereabouts with him. 

“Thranduil… you are aware that she has certain… ailments?” Gandalf nodded.

“You mean her gift?” he wondered, which made Gandalf frown.

“I was referring to her excruciatingly painful headaches… I had the pleasure of conversing with her on a number of occasions and witnessed her have a fit of pain because of them. I have seen something similar before. She does not have to be blind, if the right treatment and care are offered,” he explained.

Thranduil knew what Gandalf was saying. He too had concluded the same after he had turned his healing powers on her briefly to comfort her, bringing about a change in her eyesight. Her headaches seemed somehow related to the fact that she was unable to see.

“But you mentioned a gift… pray tell, what gift are you talking about exactly?” Gandalf was eager to know. Thranduil finally explained everything there was to tell of Barawen’s visions when touching people and how she had managed to save a number of lives, including his own and how he had mistaken her actions for those of malintent. 

“I see,” Gandalf hummed as he sucked his pipe.

“That was an unfortunate conclusion to make, my friend,” he quickly added.

Thranduil sighed and nodded in acknowledgement. 

“Mithrandir… do you think it is too late for me to make amends?” he wondered, always having valued the wizard’s counsel. 

“For an elf who is so wise and has lived so long, you do make things unnecessarily difficult for yourself… you will never know until you try,” Gandalf stated, as he rose.

“I have business in Lake Town and Erebor, but do keep me informed on how things fare with your beloved Barawen… if your connection runs as deep as you have indicated, then I doubt she has forgotten about you. I would recommend you find her and then you beg her for forgiveness,” he simply said.

Gandalf parted from Thranduil shortly after. He sought out two of his most trusted guards, Wéron and Naitener and took to his chambers to change clothes. He was going to find her himself, but he needed to keep a low profile. He would have to move through Middle-Earth in disguise. Within moments he had dressed himself in simple clothing. A dark tunic with a wide sash that could carry one of his twin swords. He brought a pouch of currency and saddle bag of supplies. A long, dark and inconspicuous cloak completed his ensemble. With firm paces he moved towards the stables, his two faithful guards by his side.

“Where are we going, my Lord?” Wéron wondered.

“Osgiliath,” Thranduil responded curtly.

***


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Barawen carried large blocks of wood towards where she knew the fire blazed in the smithy. She found it difficult to find her way around the shop, as the blacksmith kept changing the layout of the space by moving around the equipment. He was such a disorganised man and she hated him for it. He did, however, give her a job, when no one else would. Barawen instantly knew that she outranked him in all that a blacksmith had to offer, but she kept to herself mostly. The last thing she needed was to stand out for all to know. The blacksmith did nothing but use her for running insignificant errands and hauling heavy equipment from one place to another. It was hard work, harder than what she was used to, but she would live. Because she had trouble finding her way around the smithy, she often stumbled over things, cutting herself or even burning herself by unexpected sparks or boiling water when the blacksmith cooled his metal. She was unable to see it, but she could feel the scars on her arms. She cared not.

At the end of a long day, she would retire to a small cottage on the edge of Osgiliath. It wasn’t much to behold, but it offered her a comfortable roof over her head and shelter from the bitter cold she knew could torment the region. 

It was late and the blacksmith had finally conceded in letting her go for the day. She was glad, because she had enough of his liquor-stinking breath in her presence. She had to get out of the smithy.

As she returned to what was her home, she settled herself in a comfortable chair in front of a small fire. She was tired, but had no desire to sleep yet. She in fact dreaded going to sleep, as her nightmares haunted her. She always dreamt of Thranduil, which made it very difficult for her to forget him, though she desperately wanted to. 

As she rested her mind, her hands busied themselves with some wood carving. She carved all sorts of small items, all based on what she had witnessed in her past visions. She had carved dogs, chickens, horses and even people. The wood carving gave her a peace of mind and it allowed for her to have a more restful sleep. 

Suddenly she could hear rustling outside her home. It was a sound she was not familiar with, so she was not at all at ease. She reached for the dagger on the table and kept it close. She craned her neck as though it would help her listen more profoundly to the sound outside. Someone knocked on her door. 

At first she hesitated, but then decided she could take on whoever or whatever stood outside. She slowly removed the bolt and opened the wooden door.

Whoever was there, did not immediately introduce himself to her. She listened intently, trying to identify the rustling of clothes, but they were sounds she had never heard before. She stood still, waiting for any movement or sound of any kind. There was only silence.

Thranduil stood, staring at his long lost love, observing her. Sadness washed over him, as he noticed she had become thin and the scars on her arms indicated that life had not been easy since she had left Mirkwood. He fought the urge to wrap her in his arms and cradle her against his body. 

Barawen did not know what to think and her mind told her to be on high alert, ready to grab hold of the dagger she had placed on her leather belt. 

“There is no need for that, I will not hurt you,” a familiar deep and soothing voice finally spoke.

Barawen’s heart skipped a beat, but she did not respond immediately. It took a few moments before she spoke.

“You already have,” she said softly.

“And there is not a day that goes by that I don’t regret doing that, after I learned what had truly happened,” he said, sadness in his voice.

More silence.

“Well… you may as well be prepared… there will be many more days like that to come,” her voice sounding bitter.

“I’m sure you will find a way to deal with it, as you seem to find a way of dealing with so many things, like throwing the one who loved you into your dungeons,” she hissed.

“Loved?” he asked.

“Yes, _loved_ … as in something that dwells in the past,” she huffed.

Thranduil lowered his head in despair.

“Can I please come in?” he asked.

“No… I have no need for you in my house, or my life for that matter,” she stated boldly.

“How about in your heart?” he asked knowing he was risking a lot by making such a statement.

“Give me one good reason why I should not slam this door in your face right now?” she shouted.

Again silence.

“Because I love you and I know you love me!” he confessed, speaking softly.

Thranduil could feel the anger inside of her subside. He was getting through to her, somewhat reluctantly, but he was mildly successful in reaching out to her. Then suddenly her anger flared again.

“Well you should have thought of that before you decided you didn’t want to listen to me, before you concluded that you knew all that had happened… and before you decided you couldn’t trust me… you made it quite clear what you thought of me. I want you to leave… you mean _nothing_ to me anymore… _nothing_ ,” she raged, tears in her eyes.

Thranduil knew that not to be true, but he was at a loss of what to do next. He did the only thing he could think of. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Barawen wouldn’t have it. She fought him, trying to get him to loosen his hold on her, but he wouldn’t give in. She started shouting at him, demanding him to let her go. She managed to free her lower arms and started pounding her fists on the upper part of his torso. She was livid and she wanted to let him know.

Thranduil never fully released his hold of her, but let her rage on, as he could sense her collected grief making its way out. She shouted, she cried, she pounded his chest repeatedly. He let her. He deserved it.

After a while, her violent movements calmed, as she was clearly tiring. She could, however, not stop crying. While overcome by the pain in her heart, which she had carried with her for so long, she collapsed as her knees buckled beneath her. She had no more energy to fight Thranduil. She just wanted to be left alone. 

Thranduil quickly lifted her up in his arms and laid her down gently onto the bed that stood in the corner of her home. He scanned the space around him and found a wash cloth which he dabbed into some icy water that sat in a basin just outside her front door. He wiped her face, which had turned hot from the raw emotions he had witnessed moments before. When he was done, he removed his cloak and sat down beside her, holding her hand, letting her deal with him being present in her life once again. Barawen felt depleted and fell asleep shortly after. Thranduil never left her side.

*** 

Barawen woke with a tremendous headache. It was not like any of the headaches she experienced regularly, but rather one that felt as though she was hung over. She blinked the sleep from her eyes and recalled the events of the night before. She sensed Thranduil slumped over the side of her bed, while holding her hand. His silver blond hair had draped over her arm, tickling her as she moved. 

She slowly straightened herself, pushing herself into a sitting position. He had taken off her boots at one point, but where they were, she did not know. He had also taken off her blacksmith’s attire, so she could rest more comfortably. 

Slowly her thoughts turned towards Thranduil. She had not been able to recognise the sound his clothes made. He was dressed differently. She briefly touched the sleeve on his arm. He was wearing a simple tunic, not one with intricate decorative embroidery on it, but rather one that literally anyone else in Middle-Earth could have worn. She assumed his cloak was one that matched his tunic, which probably suited him, trying not to draw attention to himself. 

She could hear his slow and steady breathing. She had missed him so much, but she hadn’t forgotten how he had treated her many moons ago. Whatever they had between them, he had torn down so fast, that she wasn’t sure if it could be rebuilt. 

She removed herself from the bed, leaving Thranduil to himself. She moved to light the fire in the small fireplace, as it had gone out during the night. She was by no means inapt to light the fire, yet her fingers were fidgety and as she lit the tinder, the flame touched her wrist and she screamed out in pain, dropping herself onto the carpet that covered the floor in front of the fireplace. 

Thranduil woke instantly and within a mere moment, he was with her, crouching down beside her, holding her arm, examining the burn.

“We will need to cool this quickly,” he said as he moved to collect the wash cloth from the evening before. The cold water from the outside basin offered the relief she needed. She closed her eyes as Thranduil pressed the cold cloth onto the burn. 

She didn’t fight him. She didn’t know if she wanted to fight him. She had no more energy left to go against him. What she would do next, she did not know.

She lowered her head and simply cried. Thranduil sat himself down from a crouching position, his backside on the carpet. He rested his legs beside her shaking form, one leg on each side of her, as he pulled her towards him, while she shuddered with the sorrow she had carried with her for such a long time. As much as she wanted to stay mad at him, she couldn’t any longer, now that he was there with her. She longed for him so much. She leaned against his chest, as his arms had circled around her shoulders. She had spent many nights thinking about Thranduil holding her like that.

Thranduil rocked them both back and forth gently, uttering comforting words in Sindarin.

“Sshht… everything will be alright… I’m so sorry for having treated you the way I have… I don’t know what came over me… I jumped to conclusions and it was wrong of me and I don’t know if I can ever repair what we have lost,” he whispered. 

“But believe me when I say, I want to fix whatever was broken. You are my everything and I love you so much,” he finally managed. 

“I’ve been so stupid,” he added as he shook his head.

“Yes, you have been,” Barawen finally spoke.

Thranduil placed his index finger below her chin and lifted her face to meet his.

“Yes, I have been. You are right and I am wrong,” he admitted.

“My dearest Barawen, my love, my everything… do you think you can find it in your heart to ever forgive me?” Thranduil asked.

Barawen merely blinked her eyes, as she felt Thranduil’s breath close to her face.

“No,” she simply said.

“No?” Thranduil responded, his tone anxious.

“No… because I already forgave you last night,” she simply stated.

Thranduil’s heart exploded and in response he tenderly pressed his lips on hers. Barawen exercised pressure on his lips in return. She had missed him. She longed for him so much that the tension between her legs suddenly became prominent.

Barawen moved and straddled Thranduil’s thighs. She wanted the hurt to be over and gone forever and there was only one way to make that happen. Thranduil simply sat and stared at her, as she removed her tunic. She wore nothing underneath, instantly revealing her breasts to him. She started tugging at Thranduil’s tunic next, but not being familiar with the garment, she struggled, though he gladly assisted in removing the fabric from his upper body. The tunic was tossed carelessly across the floor of her small home. 

Slowly Barawen scooted further up his thighs, pressing her breasts against his pectorals, while circling her arms around his neck. She let her fingers guide her and before long she found his lips and lowered her mouth to his. They kissed tenderly at first, but soon passion exploded between them, accompanied by a frenzy of tongues, panting and exchanging of saliva, heightening the state of their arousal. Barawen could feel his erection against her core and regardless of the fabric between them, she rolled her hips to massage him, eliciting soft moans from his lips. 

Thranduil tried to speak against her lips.

“Barawen…” he panted, having forgotten how to properly speak.

“… I need you,” he added.

Thranduil was not sure how she had managed, but she had quickly managed to remove her leggings from the lower part of her body and pushed his down just past the upper half of his hips, just far enough to free his length. He remained in a sitting position, not ready to remove his hands that now caressed her back, while she lifted herself slightly to guide him to her slick entrance. She tightened her grip on his neck as she slowly lowered herself onto him. The moment he filled her completely, she slowly pushed her head back, taking in the sensations she was feeling. Her mind and heart were overflowing and Thranduil sensed it through their union. She slowly rolled her hips, massaging his shaft, while keeping her head back, exposing her neck. Thranduil did not leave the opportunity to go to waste and the next moment his lips were on her delicate skin, sucking her flesh, gently biting, letting her know that he was ready to mark her as his. She let him. 

Barawen changed her movements from rolling her hips to lifting herself up and lowering herself down onto his hardness. In response Thranduil bucked upwards to meet her, making sure she understood that she was not alone in making their intimacy pleasurable. While he could sense her pleasure and enjoyment, he could also feel the sadness that still reside deep within. Tears gathered in her eyes. 

In one swift motion, he flipped them both, having Barawen rest on her back on the carpet, while the fire burnt by their side in the small fireplace. He pushed his leggings further down his legs until they came off at his feet. This allowed him to part her thighs with his knees. He was driven to replace her sadness with nothing but good. She squirmed beneath him, while he fervently pushed into her hard and fast. She lifted her knees up to give him the deepest of penetrations, and effectively tightening her entrance enough for him to grunt against her mouth.  
While one hand rested beside her head, the other cupped the breast closest to his reach. He lowered his mouth and closed it around the nipple that had hardened. He sucked it gently, while invading her core over and over. Then his attention turned to her neck, where he noticed the marks he had left on her skin only moments before. The purple hue stood out from her otherwise pale skin. 

He smiled at the notion of having marked her. She was his, and he had been a fool for having treated her the way he had done. 

“Yes, I’m yours,” she gasped as he slid in and out of her. Thranduil frowned, but a big smile followed shortly after, as he understood that the connection his mind had forged with hers, had now been reciprocated. She could sense him as well. 

Thranduil kissed her on the lips and kept kissing her until he could feel the walls of her insides clench around him and soon she exploded beneath him, writhing as her climax endured with the movements he kept going. He wasn’t far behind. His lips were slightly parted, but they stayed glued to hers, as his muscles contracted with his own orgasm. Barawen could feel the warmth of his semen deep inside of her and it made her grip his shoulders tightly, afraid of letting go. She had missed this so much. Thranduil felt himself twitch at his high, finding it difficult to calm himself, though slowly he managed. Both were sated to such an extent, that they remained in the same position for a while. Barawen felt him softening and after a while, whether he wanted to or not, he slipped out. Thranduil moved to lie on his side next to his beautiful lover. Barawen tried to bring her thighs together, barely being able to. She leaned against him, her back towards the fire which was burning happily, warming them both. 

Suddenly Barawen jolted up.

“You didn’t come here just by yourself, did you?” she wondered. Thranduil was more than capable of holding his own, but he was a king after all and he needed protection, especially outside of his kingdom.

“I did not… I brought Wéron and Naitener with me,” he tried to put her mind at ease, but it did nothing of the kind.

“Where are they?” she asked in shock, knowing that they wouldn’t be far from their king.

“They are not far, but they know to be at a discrete distance,” Thranduil noted amusedly  
.   
“But they were outside all night… they must be freezing,” Barawen observed.

“We should bring them in, I will prepare some breakfast and hot tea… poor things,” she muttered as she busied herself to find her clothes by touch to get dressed.

Thranduil also stood, gathering his leggings and tunic. As soon as he looked presentable again, he walked towards Barawen, who had started to gather what she needed to prepare breakfast, and snaked his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder, while his cheek brushed against her neck. She jumped slightly.

“Please, come home?” he pleaded.

She turned around her vertical axle and nodded.

“I want to, but you must promise never to jump to conclusions like that again… you should have known better… you know _me_ better than that,” she reprimanded him.

He knew she was right. He took her hands into his and placed them against his chest, palms down. 

“I made a terrible mistake, because I was convinced that the one I loved so much, had betrayed me. I was hurting so badly. I was blind with fury and it made me react in a way I shouldn’t have and I can never tell you enough how sorry I am. We have wasted such precious time, time we could have spent together. I am so glad I found you,” he finally admitted with a slight quiver in his voice.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, how _did_ you find me?” she wondered.

“You have met Mithrandir, have you not?” Thranduil asked kindly.

“I have. I’ve had the most wonderful conversations with him. I’ve grown very fond of him, but I’ve not seen him for a fortnight at least,” she explained.

Thranduil nodded.

“Mithrandir is a good friend, the best… he informed me of your whereabouts. Did you tell him we were…?” he stopped talking.

“Not with so many words, but it seems he figured it all out on his own,” she was pleased to say.

Thranduil chuckled.

“Who would have thought, Mithrandir the matchmaker,” he now laughed.

“Let’s bring Wéron and Naitener inside and then… we go home,” he said in earnest, followed by a searing kiss.

“Yes… let’s,” she acknowledged, her knees weak.

*** 

The journey back to Mirkwood was a long one. The weather was slowly changing. The cold had set in and the ground had been covered with a thin layer of snow. They would spend several nights outside, but it seemed that Wéron and Naitener were quite skilled when it came to survival in the wild. Barawen was surprised to see how well Thranduil thrived not being in his kingdom. He felt alive and excited. She understood that he was happy to have found her, but there was something about him being in close connection with nature that brought something special about. He built fires, shelters, he hunted and cooked. And when he wasn’t busy doing all of that, he ensured to give Barawen the attention she had missed during their time apart. The cold did not always allow for them to be intimate, but they managed. And when they did, Wéron and Naitener made sure they kept their distance out of respect for their king. 

Finally they arrived at the palace of the Woodland Realm. Naitener rode ahead about half a day prior, to ensure all would be ready for their arrival. The palace was completely prepared and happy to welcome back the king. While Thranduil had enjoyed the time outside of his realm, he was happy to be home.

Barawen was used to a lot of heat, from working over scorching fires and working with heated metals, she was not used to the cold and preferred to stay indoors when temperatures dropped. While Thranduil had made sure she wouldn’t be cold while travelling, she was looking forward to bathing, immersing herself fully in a bath, surrounded by warm water.

As soon as they entered the royal chambers, Thranduil guided her to the bathing area. He gently assisted her in removing her furs and clothes, before stripping to the nude himself. As he guided her into the water, he could sense her relax, both physically as well as mentally. They enjoyed their close proximity of one another and relished in the scented oils they had both missed so much. The warm water beckoned for them to get even closer to one another and before long, the sounds of pleasure could be heard from the royal chambers. The servants were able to overhear them, but said nothing. They could only smile. Their king was back and he was happy again.

***


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

“I’m not sure I want to do this,” Barawen raised her voice angrily.

“I’m so used not being able to see… what if I lose my gift?” anxiety could be heard in the tone of her words.

“My dearest, Barawen, it is not likely that you will lose your gift. It is not related to your lack of eyesight,” Gandalf tried to reassure her.

“Your gift is more likely related to the fact that you are high-born, although you may not have a recollection of that, as I understood you were quite young when you lost your parents. Your own name is a Sindar word even. Would your parents have given you that name if there was not something of nobility in you?” the wizard lit his pipe without looking at the young elleth.

Thranduil could see the desperation in Barawen’s eyes, as she looked ahead of her, seeing nothing.

He walked over and entwined his fingers around hers, instantly transferring soothing sensations into her body and mind.

Barawen leaned into him, as he had taken up a spot beside her.

“I’m scared, Thranduil,” she said, tears in her eyes, though she willed them away.

“I know, my love, but you yourself mentioned several times how your gift is often a burden. If you were to lose it, would it be such a tremendous loss?” he asked her kindly, squeezing her fingers to provide comfort.

Barawen shrugged, she knew there was something to what Thranduil was telling her, but she had lived with her ability to see visions most of her life and she felt she wouldn’t be herself if she were to lose that ability.

Thranduil sensed her concern and spoke softly.

“You will still be _you_ , and I will still love you, no matter what happens,” he spoke before tenderly kissing the temple on the side of her head.

“And imagine what you will gain. Your eyesight… the ability to see your surroundings, the smithy, your father, your brothers…”

“You?” she raised her face up to his. He smiled in response.

“Me,” he acknowledged.

“And yourself, my dear,” Gandalf responded in a matter-of-fact like voice.

“Myself?” she wondered, not sure if she was up for that.

Thranduil sensed a hint of insecurity wash over her, though he wasn’t sure where it came from, but the notion of her getting her eyesight back, made her apprehensive in general.

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close, while he chuckled lightly.

“Relax, my darling, you are absolutely lovely, and soon you will be able to see that for yourself,” he tried to convince her, but he could tell he was not very successful.

There was a brief silence in the room. Barawen sighed.

“Very well… I must admit, I’m incredibly curious, but I’m terrified as well,” she admitted.

“I will be here to help you through it,” Thranduil said as he tenderly kissed her lips this time.

“Splendid,” the wizard exclaimed.

“Any counsel from you, Mithrandir?” Thranduil asked.

“None that I haven’t already given,” Gandalf replied.

“It’s your healing gift that must do the work now,” he simply said.

Barawen took a deep breath.

“When would you like to do this?” Thranduil asked, his question directed at his lover.

She thought for a moment.

“No time like the present, I suppose,” she responded, knowing well that she would only be putting it off indefinitely if given the opportunity.

“Thranduil, may I recommend you bring in your best healers to aid you for this? The journey might be an exhausting one and you may require help,” the wizard advised.

Thranduil nodded and instantly sent word to collect his best healers from the healing chambers. 

“My dear, I recommend you get comfortable on the bed. I cannot be certain, but I suspect the exercise may not be entirely free of distress, not to mention that it might drain you of your energy,” Gandalf explained.

Thranduil could feel Barawen tense and amplified his physical connection with her at that moment, to let her know he was there for her. She was grateful.

Three of the kingdom’s best healers entered the room and as soon as they were informed of the situation and what was required from them, they stood around the bed, along with Thranduil and Gandalf. 

“Let’s begin,” the wizard said.

Thranduil slowly put one hand on her head, the other on her chest. Barawen could feel the warmth of his healing powers spread through her entire body, but as the healing started to work where it mattered, she could feel the all too familiar pain in her head arise and before long she was screaming in agony. Thranduil’s heart broke for her, but he was not dissuaded from seeing things through. 

Barawen twisted and writhed under his touch. To ensure Thranduil could work on her, the other healers held her down, until she could not take it any longer. She lost consciousness.

Darkness had fallen when Thranduil and the other healers had finally managed to complete their task at hand. The rest would be up to Barawen, but she was not yet awake.

“It might take a while before she regains consciousness, my friend,” Gandalf looked into the king’s weary eyes, as exhaustion had taken over his very being long before they were done.

“I would advise you to get some rest also,” Gandalf tried to convince him to find a bed somewhere.

“I will not leave her side,” Thranduil snapped, though his expression softened quickly as he had not meant to be so mean towards the wizard.

Gandalf nodded, he understood. The king would walk through fire for his loved one.

Thranduil seated himself in the chair next to the bed and rested his upper body on the side of the bed next to Barawen’s unconscious form.

The healers did not leave the royal chambers, but made themselves comfortable in the ante-chamber, while Gandalf took residence on the comfortable sofa by the fireplace.

The night came and went. There was no change until mid-morning.

She stirred.

“Mithrandir!” Thranduil called out, after seeing Barawen move.

The wizard entered the sleeping chambers, the three healers in his wake. All stood around the bed, waiting for Barawen to open her eyes.

Several more moments passed. She blinked. Then blinked again. Her eyes opened slowly.

Thranduil could see her eyeballs move, which is something he had not seen her do before.

Barawen took in her first images. Her vision was slightly blurry, but seemed to improve as time elapsed. She lifted her hands and looked at them. She observed her fingers, turned them to look at the palms. Slowly she propped herself up into a sitting position, until she noticed five figures standing around the bed, staring at her, waiting for a response of any kind.

She looked at their faces, each as kind-looking as the next. When she had looked at all five of them, her gaze went back to one in particular. A tall elf, with silvery blonde hair, expressive eyebrows, high cheekbones and a pair of lips she couldn’t look away from. Her face brightened. Instantly she sat on her knees and crawled towards him across the surface of the bed, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Thranduil!” she merely managed softly , as he smiled and coiled his arms around her shoulders, embracing her tightly. 

“My love,” he simply said, as the vibrations of his deep voice oozed into her.

Gandalf slowly ushered the healers and himself out of the room discretely, to allow the couple the time they needed to _meet_ all over again.

Nothing could disturb their hold of one another. It almost felt like they hadn’t seen one another in a century, which was almost true for Barawen. She had never laid eyes on Thranduil until that very moment.

She finally broke free from his embrace and looked at him. She had never been able to distinguish between what was considered beautiful or what wasn’t, but she felt an instant attraction to the king, her loved one. She stared into his eyes, of which she was able to see they were silver blue. She was not able however to name the colour, but she was mesmerised by them nevertheless. 

“Your eyes,” she whispered in awe.

Thranduil let her find the words she was looking for. He understood she would not be able to express herself in a way she would have, had she been able to see like everyone else. She knew nothing of colours, what was considered beautiful or not. She had no way of knowing. She did not possess the vocabulary that could articulate whatever she was seeing for the first time.

Suddenly she noticed something hanging on the wall, of which she knew it was in the direction of where the bathing area was. She moved away from Thranduil, away from the bed that had offered comfort only moments before. As she drew closer, she noticed that whatever was in the room, seemed to reflect off of it. She then realised she was approaching a mirror. She stopped walking and swallowed hard.

She moved in front of it and just stared at the reflection. 

She noticed her hair cascading down her shoulders. Wavy, the ends curling. She had been told the colour was brown. She closed the distance between herself and the mirror, looking at her face. Her eyes were different from that of Thranduil. Somewhat the same colour, but darker, less bright. Her eyebrows were a lot thinner than Thranduil’s and her mouth was shaped differently. As she parted her lips, she noticed her teeth. Were they nice-looking? She did not know. Slowly Thranduil moved to stand behind her. He too had the lips on his mouth slightly parted and revealed his teeth as he ultimately broke into a big smile. She looked at his reflection. My goodness, he was appealing to look at, she thought to herself, instantly realising her thoughts were betraying her. It made him snigger softly.

“I’m glad you approve. What do you think of _you?_ ” he asked, a smile still on his face.

“I’m not certain,” the quivering voice came.

“I understand, it is a lot to process, but will you believe me when I tell you that you are the most beautiful woman in the kingdom?” he said, one corner of his mouth curled upwards.

She huffed.

“You are hardly objective.”

“Do not forget that I also fell in love with you as time passed. I may not be objective now, but I was at one point,” he debated.

Barawen understood what he was trying to say, as she turned and circled her arms around him, seeking comfort, which he was happy to provide.

She was going to have to learn how to live all over again and it scared her.

***   
Barawen was apprehensive to go outside. She had seen that the weather had turned outside and the cold had set in. A significant layer of snow had covered the area around the kingdom, except for where the forest was thick. 

She had not yet gone back to work, as the healers had insisted she adjust to her newly acquired eyesight and recover physically, seeing the whole process had demanded a lot from her. She decided it would be safe to venture outside and remain relatively close to the palace. She knew that there was a clearing close by, where a pond sat in the centre of it. She did not particularly care for going out into the cold, because she had never been too fond of the low temperatures, but armed with a fur cloak, she figured she would be alright. 

Everything was new to Barawen as she walked towards the pond. She felt the cold on her toes through her boots, wondering if she should have worn different ones, as she eyed them looking down. She was enthralled by the clouds that formed just outside her mouth as she exhaled and she enjoyed the large snowflakes that slowly whirled down onto her face.

She was in total awe of everything she saw, though her eyesight was still something she required getting used to. She walked somewhat uneasily, having always depended on touch and hearing to get around.

She reached the pond and as she lowered herself to touch the surface that connected with the water’s edge, she found that the water was frozen. She had felt ice before, but as she looked upon the large frozen surface, she wondered if she could in fact cross it. Curiosity got the better of her and slowly she ventured onto the ice. She found the surface to be slippery, as she knew it could be. She heard the crackling noise the ice made beneath her feet, but she didn’t think much of it. She proceeded further onto the ice. At one point, she decided she had gone far enough and that it was probably best if she returned to the pond’s edge. Slowly she stepped across the ice, focused on what was in front of her.

Then suddenly the sound beneath her feet became louder and before she could even begin to realise what was causing it, she felt the solid cave beneath her feet and she fell into the ice cold water past her waist. She could feel the surface below at her feet, but the cold felt like a thousand knives were stabbing her all at once. She panicked and started flailing her arms. She had to get out, but every time she managed to crawl out of the water, the edges of the ice broke and she had to start over again. She could feel herself tire as hope slowly disappeared from her mind. She had no more energy to fight the freezing water, the ice or the cold in general.

Out of the woods, she suddenly heard thundering hooves, as a large animal with antlers appeared. An incredibly big elk snorted loudly, before turning sideways revealing Thranduil on the back of the animal. His facial expression was one of shock as he noticed his loved one struggling. Mere moments it took him to reach her, as he flattened himself across the ice and slowly crawled towards her. It didn’t take long for him to successfully get her out of the freezing water. She was shivering violently and found it difficult to speak.

“How…?” she could only manage, her lips blue with cold.

“I was looking for you, wondering where you had gone to, but then I felt you panic and I simply knew something was not right,” he responded, as he lifted her up onto his elk and wrapped his cloak around her in an attempt to preserve the last bit of warmth her body still carried.

“Let’s get you back quickly,” he said as he turned the large animal and spurred it on to go into a gallop.

*** 

With a loud bang, Thranduil had kicked open the doors to his chambers, and with equal force did he kick them shut once inside. He quickly carried Barawen to the bed, but before settling her there, he removed the wet and cold clothing from her body so fast, that it took Barawen a moment to register that she was all of a sudden naked. Thranduil laid her down onto the bed and covered her. 

With a brisk pace, he walked towards the fireplace in the bedroom and added more wood to the already blazing fire. Then he quickly returned to where the bed stood and stripped naked himself, before crawling in with her, wrapping the covers around them both. He pressed himself against her cold form, knowing that this would be the only way to get her warm. He had considered a warm bath, but did not think her body could handle the shock.

Barawen could feel Thranduil rub his hands all over her body, to heat up all that was cold. The heat of his own body seemed to work miracles, as he noticed her blue lips slowly disappearing and the colour on her cheeks reappearing. 

For a while both their movements stilled, as Barawen faced Thranduil, feeling his skin on hers. She had felt the same many times before, but it was different now that she could actually see him. She slowly lowered the covers and gazed upon his athletic torso. 

She sighed in bliss. She had slowly started to understand the concept of beauty. And Thranduil was definitely someone who was mild on the eyes. She trailed her fingertips along his pectorals and his nipples. Her fingers followed the line down his abdomen toward his navel, before venturing even lower. She pushed the covers further down, having fully warmed up again under Thranduil’s care. Now it was time for her to care for him.

As the covers came away from his hips, she stared at his erect length, before taking him into her hand. She heard him sigh with a slight guttural sound. She moved her thumb across the tip, where she could see some juices glistening. She never knew and she smiled at every little detail she seemed to be learning as time passed by. 

“You… are… teasing…” his tone accusing, as he flipped her over, pinning her beneath his body, and wrapping the covers around them. 

“Can’t have you go cold again,” he said seductively.

Barawen could merely look into his electric blue eyes, as she unconsciously opened her thighs to him, letting him settle between them.

All she wanted was to look at the beautiful elf on top of her. She connected deeply with him, even more so than before. His love for her ran deep and she was able to see it on his face. She could feel him slowly push his hips forward, sheathing his shaft deep within her folds, letting her surround him fully, eased by the juices that were flowing lavishly. She did not blink once, not wanting to lose him as he penetrated her depths. 

Thranduil sensed her raw emotions, which had seemed to have intensified since she had regained her eyesight. Her emotions told him so much. The pleasure she was experiencing, the amazement of her sight combined with them coming together and her love for him. Their union had changed, but it was the kind of change that she welcomed. She never thought she could feel more than what she was feeling at that very moment and Thranduil had managed to surprise her on several occasions already. 

Thranduil quickened his pace, fortifying his thrusts, as she squealed with every invasion. The feeling was so intense, that she was certain her high would be upon her soon. This pleased Thranduil, as he could sense her emotions, making him close in on his climax quicker than he had anticipated. 

Mere moments later, she screamed, forcing herself to look at him as she orgasmed around him hard. Thranduil was right behind her and she adored the intense look in his eyes as he started to spasm on top of her. She circled her arms around his shoulders as he shuddered, trying to free himself from a climax that seemed to have had him in lockdown. He didn’t mind. 

Finally they managed to catch their breaths. Barawen felt him slip out of her, after which he settled himself by her side, his arm draped across her abdomen, while his thigh rested over hers. 

Barawen simply stared at the organic-looking ceiling above the large bed, in shock of what had just happened.

“That… was amazing,” she sighed loudly.

Thranduil smiled.

“Not cold anymore?” he asked her teasingly, knowing well that she had warmed up quite nicely with the exercise.

She shook her head.

The room fell silent. Barawen had turned to lie on her stomach, her arms up and slightly curved beside her head, while Thranduil doodled lazily on her shoulder blades, making her skin goose bumped. 

“Sweetheart?” Thranduil asked all of a sudden.

“Hmmm,” Barawen responded, bliss on her face.

“About your gift…” he wondered, not finishing his sentence.

“… is it…?”

“…gone?” Barawen finished the sentence for him.

She smiled and shook her head.

“No… I still have it,” she told him, a tremendous happiness and relief oozed into Thranduil’s mind as she told him.

“And your headaches?” Thranduil wanted to know, not having been by her side continuously since she started to see again.

“I’ve not had any headaches like I’ve had before. I half expect one to surprise me when I least expect it, but so far I have experienced no headaches,” she explained. 

“Is it true what Mithrandir said? Is my gift the kind of elf magic that only high-born elves carry?” she genuinely wondered as she looked Thranduil in his eyes.

Thranduil nodded. 

“It is… making you even more special than what I already knew you were,” he pointed out, kissing her tenderly on the tip of her nose. 

“But… how do you know you still have it?” Thranduil suddenly realised.

“Have you had visions by touching people?” he wondered.

Barawen shook her head.

“Not exactly, I have only touched you, since I got my eyesight back,” she explained.

“You’ve had visions about me?” he asked, eyeing her somewhat suspiciously.

Barawen smiled, looking at the king before her, who suddenly had an expression on his face like that of a small curious child.

“And?” Thranduil looked at her intently.

She chuckled.

“Your life is not in any danger, if that’s what you’re wondering about,” she told him, not wanting to disclose anything else on what she knew.

“Well, that is very good to know, but that is not what I meant,” he raised his eyebrows quizzically.

Barawen took a deep breath.

“I don’t think it is for me to say what will happen in the nearby future, but if I were to tell you that I love you and all will be well, can you trust me? Do you think that will suffice to keep you happy?” she genuinely asked him.

Thranduil stared at his beautiful lover for a while before responding and then smiled at her.

“I think I can live with that!”

***


End file.
